


For Mother

by RubyLipsStarryEyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Auror Ron Weasley, Aurors, Complete, Cursed Narcissa Malfoy, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mother-Son Relationship, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22269631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyLipsStarryEyes/pseuds/RubyLipsStarryEyes
Summary: After the war, Harry develops a relationship with Narcissa, but what happens when Narcissa is cursed?{COMPLETE}
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott, Hestia Jones/Kingsley Shacklebolt, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Millicent Bulstrode/Charlie Weasley, Narcissa Black Malfoy & Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Susan Bones/Ron Weasley
Comments: 82
Kudos: 334





	1. Mrs Malfoy

May, 1998

“Mr Potter.” A refined, feminine voice came from behind him, and he turned to see the very tired, very dirty, very unexpected face of Narcissa Malfoy. 

“Mrs Malfoy?” The Battle had ended only hours before, and he was so tired. Bone-deep, achingly tired, and he couldn’t even muster up the energy to be surprised at being approached by the woman. 

“I... You... That is... Thank you.” Harry got the distinct feeling the woman was not accustomed to being at a loss for words. 

“Er... I mean... You’re welcome. And thank you. I couldn’t have... I mean you didn’t... “ Harry wasn’t feeling particularly verbose at the moment, and all he really wanted was a nap. Like a year-long, sleep-like-the-dead nap. And instead he was having a very uncomfortable half-conversation with his childhood nemesis’s mother, who was probably the only reason he was currently alive. So he supposed the nap would have to wait. 

“I did it for Draco.” Narcissa’s blue eyes went back to where Draco and Lucius sat, removed from everyone else. 

“I know.” Harry wasn’t sure if that was the end of it until her hand shot out, grasping his tightly. Again, her warm hands seemed to be at odds with her normally icy demeanor. A squeeze, and the tall woman withdrew. 

Harry watched as she sat beside Draco, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Even Lucius reached out, slipping an arm around her slender frame. Harry felt a pang of longing for his own mother. How he wished he’d gotten the time, the chance to know her. After seeing Severus’ memories, he felt her loss even more acutely. 

Harry turned away, leaving the Malfoy family to their own joy, grief, relief, and regret. 

***

Autumn, 1998

“Mr Potter.” The refined voice was now painfully familiar after weeks of sitting in a courtroom with her. 

“Mrs Malfoy.” He turned back to see Narcissa Malfoy, her blond hair swept up in a tasteful, modest updo. Her dress, though finely made, was equally modest. In the trials, the woman and her family had been laid bare, but it had been Harry’s testimony that had them walking free. 

Lucius was ordered two years of house arrest, and they would be paying excessive amounts of galleons in reparations, but they were free. Harry wasn’t sure why he was so relieved, but he couldn’t bear to think of Draco or Narcissa in Azkaban. Lucius... he was on the fence about. But he wasn’t taking to Lucius. 

“Thank you, Mr Potter. Once again.” 

This time he was the one to reach out, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. Again he watched her return to Lucius and Draco, and the aching pang he felt for his own mother took his breath away. 

Once more, he turned away from the Malfoy family. 

***

November, 1998

“Mr Potter.” Several months of Auror training meant that he’d seen her coming, not that she was easy to miss. 

“Mrs Malfoy.” He turned to find her with the closest thing to a gentle expression he’d ever seen on the woman’s face. If he wasn’t mistaken, she looked almost pleased to see him. Based on the surge he’d felt at catching a glimpse of the tall blonde, he was just as pleased to see her. How strange. 

“I wanted to extend my congratulations. I heard you recently passed your examinations for the Auror office.” She glanced around as she said it, her blue eyes darting past him to take in their surroundings. Diagon Alley was busier than it had been, though still not as crowded as Harry remembered it being before the war. 

“Thank you, Mrs Malfoy.” The news hadn’t hit the papers yet, so she was obviously keeping tabs on him, probably a contact within the Ministry. Her blue eyes landed back on him. 

“Please, call me Narcissa.” Her blue eyes were momentarily unguarded, and he softened. 

“Narcissa, then.” She smiled, a small smile, true, but it was the first real smile he’d seen from the woman. 

“It was nice to see you under better circumstances, Mr Potter.” She glanced around the crowded street, obviously ill at ease. 

“Harry. It’s just Harry.” Another small smile before she cast another glance around. 

“Harry.” He smiled himself, but it wavered at her anxiety. 

“Would you like to get a cup of tea?” he offered, not sure what else to say. 

“Thank you, Harry. But Lucius will be expecting me home. Perhaps another time?” He hadn’t been expecting his hope that she would accept, nor the genuine offer of a rain check, but he nodded. 

“I’d like that.” 

She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently before stepping back and aparating with a soft “pop.” 

Harry had far from forgotten his encounter with the elegant woman, but was still surprised when an eagle owl tapped on his window the next Wednesday, an invitation to Sunday afternoon tea clutched in its beak. He’d eagerly accepted, and then kicked himself. What the hell was he supposed to do or say at a pureblood tea party? 

Hermione and by extension, her newfound friend in Pansy Parkinson were the answer. The very loud, obnoxiously giggly answer. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. 

“Mama Malfoy invited you for tea?” Pansy looked entirely too delighted, sitting across the table at a small cafe not far from the Ministry Thursday afternoon. 

“Well technically I invited her but she... What is so funny?” Harry looked exasperatedly over the table at the Slytherin girl, who was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. 

“Draco is going to be furious!”

Harry’s stomach sank. Of course Draco would furious. He would also probably be there. It was his house. It was entirely possible Lucius would be there too. He was still on house arrest and still unable to leave the Manor. Dammit. He should have thought of this before accepting. 

“Oh don’t look so put out. He wouldn’t dare say a word against her. We call her Mama Bear for a reason.” She sobered. “Though if you tell her we call her that, I’ll hex your bollocks off.”

Harry just held his hands up in surrender. “Look. I just need to know what to wear and say without looking like an idiot.”

Pansy raised one dark eyebrow and narrowed her eyes. “You’ve never worried about that before. Or did you forget asking if Senior Councilman Phillips if his wife was his daughter?”

Harry groaned. “And you think I want a repeat of that? You know what? Oh no. Something came up. I guess I’m going to have to cancel. Shame.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You’re just as dramatic as Draco.” She held her hand up to stop his protests. “I need to see your closet. Tomorrow, six o’clock. And don’t you dare cancel on Mrs Malfoy.” 

***

And that’s how Harry found himself standing in the doorway of his own bedroom, with Hermione sprawled over his bed with a book and Pansy bloody Parkinson rummaging through his possessions on a Friday night. 

“Honestly Potter, don’t you know what a tailoring charm is?” Pansy held up a light blue oxford that he never wore. “Try this on.”

He huffed, taking the shirt and starting to retreat when Hermione piped up. 

“Harry it’s just a shirt. I’ve seen you in far less and Pansy won’t bite.”

He grumbled a bit but stripped off his t-shirt anyway, trying to ignore the appreciative glances from Pansy. 

“When did you get hot, Potter?” Pansy was staring openly now, her eyes raking suggestively over his bare chest. 

“About the same time he figured out that you and I have the wrong anatomy for his fancy,” Hermione quipped in a bored tone over her book. “Harry you missed a button.”

He glowered at her, but fixed the off-set buttons. Pansy approached, tugging on the fabric here and there before whispering a few incantations. The fabric folded and stitched itself until it fit him perfectly. 

“Much better. You actually don’t look like a slob.” Harry was relatively certain that it sounded even more condescending in her honeyed tone, but she was helping, so he stayed quiet. 

“Your trousers actually fit quite well, so you’re fine there. I think if you wear the blue with these robes,” she tossed him a dark grey set, “you’ll be just fine.” 

He pulled the robes on, turning to look at himself in the full-length mirror. 

“She’s right. You look much better,” the enchanted mirror crooned at him. He glared at his own reflection. 

“‘Mione?” She nodded with a small, worried smile. He knew that look. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just... I don’t understand. Why?” 

“Why do I care how I look?” His eyebrows pulled together. She’d been nagging him to dress better and tuck his shirt in since their second year at Hogwarts. 

“Why are you going to Malfoy Manor?” This time he didn’t miss her right hand clutching at her left forearm. Oh. 

“If I’m honest, I’d really rather not. But I do want to talk to Narcissa, and this might be my only opportunity.”

Pansy looked uncomfortable, a sight that was extremely odd to Harry. He’d thought the girl was virtually unshakable and indestructible. 

“I just don’t understand why you can’t invite her here, or even meet her in public.” Hermione was sitting straight up, ready for a fight. 

“Right because meeting at The Leaky Cauldron will put her right at ease for a conversation about her actions that nearly landed her entire family in Azkaban.” Harry planted his feet, irritated now. 

“They’re getting death threats,” Pansy said quietly, her pleading tone just as uncharacteristic as her discomfort had been. “From both sides.” 

Hermione looked slightly abashed at that, and slumped back slightly. 

“Look, ‘Mione. I just want to talk to her. If doing it on her turf is the cost, so be it. You and Ron know where I’ll be if it comes down to it, but I’m not afraid of her. Lucius wouldn’t dare touch me, he barely escaped Azkaban. And Draco...”

“Won’t be there anyway.” Pansy spoke up again, some of her confidence back. “He’s in France, finishing his NEWTs on an accelerated program with a personal tutor.” She paused. “He won’t be back til April.” Hermione still looked unconvinced, but sighed. 

“I’m sending in the calvary if you’re so much as a minute late,” she huffed. 

“Fine.”

“Fine.” 


	2. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets Narcissa for tea

Two days later, he was smoothing down his hair nervously, pacing in front of the fireplace at five minutes to three. 

Ron and Hermione sat on the sofa behind him, watching him pace. 

“Are you sure about this, mate?” Ron’s eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes dark. 

“I’m sure.” Harry checked the clock again. Two minutes to three. He continued his pacing. Hermione was opening her mouth to say something when the clock behind her chimed, and Harry was gone in a rush of emerald flames and a firm, “Malfoy Manor.” 

He stepped out into a room of grey and white marble, and almost into a tall, thickly muscled redhead. 

“Bill?” 

“Hey, Harry! See you at dinner!” Before Harry could even ask what he was doing there, he disappeared through the floo with a muffled, “The Burrow.” 

“Hello, Harry.” Narcissa’s soft voice came from the same direction Bill had come from, and he turned back around. Narcissa did indeed look more relaxed in her own home, and she gave him a small smile. 

“Narcissa.”

“Please, come in.” She gestured towards the hall behind her, and he followed her lead into a parlor that seemed out of place against his memories of the manor. It strongly reminded him of the Ravenclaw common room, actually. Airy blues and silvers decorated the elegant space, making it feel light but still comfortable. 

“It will just be us this afternoon, I’m afraid. Lucius is in a rather ill-tempered mood, and Draco is away for his studies.” Narcissa sat on one end of a sofa, while Harry chose a chair to her right. 

“In France, right?” 

“Yes, we decided it might be best... Though I’m sure you know.” Narcissa swallowed, looking away. 

“I actually just heard. Pansy Parkinson mentioned it.” Narcissa looked back, startled. “Er... She’s become friends with Hermione, still not sure how or when, but she keeps showing up in my kitchen so...” 

That got a soft chuckle from Narcissa. “She always has been quite tenacious.” As she spoke, a tea tray appeared before her, piled high with delicate sandwiches and cakes. All of his favorites were included, and he took the cup she passed him gratefully. 

“Tenacious is probably a bit more kind than any of the words I would have chosen, but she’s not so bad. She’s managed to undo more of Walburga Black’s sticking charms than all of us have combined, and we’ve been trying for ages.”

A flicker passed over her face, and Harry belatedly realized that she would have known Walburga. 

“ _ Dimittas _ .” Her voice was so soft he almost missed it. 

“I’m sorry?”

“ _ Dimittas _ . It’s the counter charm for the spell my father and Uncle Orion used. I imagine it would be the same one used by Aunt Walburga.” 

Harry blinked rapidly at her, his teacup hovering halfway to his mouth. He set the cup down slowly. 

“Thank you.” 

She nodded tersely. “I know something of having a home that feels unwelcoming. I can only assume Aunt Walburga’s is not the most comfortable for you.”

“It’s... a work in progress,” he said delicately, hoping not to offend her. Another small smile. 

“Did you manage to get the heads off the wall yet?” Harry was taken aback, and just shook his head. “Ghastly, really. It used to terrify us as children.”

“Honestly I just want them gone so Hermione stops with the House-elf rights speeches at breakfast every morning... There’s not enough coffee in the world to make those bearable.” 

Narcissa looked surprised. 

“I didn’t realize you and Miss Granger—“ 

“Oh no. Not us. That is, not me and Hermione. She’s with Ron. They moved in, it’s such a big house...”

Narcissa’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink, much like Draco’s did when he got flustered. “My apologies, I didn’t—“

“No it’s fine. Really. Everybody knows, we can’t seem to keep anything out of the  _ Prophet _ .”

“I make it a point to avoid it, when I can. Lucius still has it delivered each morning, so occasionally I’ll see a headline, but it’s too... painful.” Harry nodded, understanding perfectly. He wished he could do the same 95% of the time. 

“If not Miss Granger, is there another witch you have your eye on? Are you still dating Miss Weasley?” Harry was wondering how they’d gotten to the topic of his love life. This is not what he’d come here to discuss. 

“No, it was pretty short lived after it was all over. I love her, but more like a sister. I’m actually not interested in witches at all.” He felt his cheeks heat. After having his sexuality broadcast all over the papers, he thought this part was over. 

“Any lucky wizard then?” Harry could have sworn her eyes sparkled a bit brighter, but he laughed, shaking his head. 

“No, most of them are looking for “The Chosen One” or whatever rubbish the  _ Prophet _ is spouting. I’d rather someone want Just Harry.” 

She smiled, and it finally reached her eyes, making the blue less ice and more of a spring sky. Harry felt himself relaxing more as they talked, until the sandwiches and cakes were dwindling, and the clock ticked later. 

It was five to five when he checked his watch, and realized Hermione was going to have a team of Aurors busting down the door if he didn’t get to The Burrow soon. 

“Narcissa, I’m so sorry but I need to be going. Mrs Weasley and Hermione will lose their minds if I’m late for Sunday dinner.”

She smiled knowingly. “You best not get on either of their bad sides. I’ve really enjoyed this, thank you for coming.” 

“I did too. Thank you for having me.” He hoped his sincerity showed, because he really had enjoyed talking to her. She wasn’t like Mrs Weasley, who’s attention was split between nearly a dozen people, or like Aunt Petunia who didn’t care about a thing he said. He felt heard by the witch. 

“Would you like to come for tea again next week?” He wasn’t sure if he’d heard a note of hope in his voice or imagined it, but he was relieved either way. 

“I’d love to.” She smiled, her eyes lighting up, and Harry found himself to be immensely pleased by her happiness at the prospect. 

He passed through the floo with less than a minute to spare, feeling oddly light. 

“Harry!” Hermione threw himself at him, much as she had a millions times during their school years. He grunted at the impact, but managed to stay upright. “Did it go okay? You’re safe?”

“Merlin, ‘Mione. It was tea not a bloody raid. I’m fine. It was nice.”

She let go to look at him incredulously. “Nice. Tea with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy was nice.” 

“Are you barking?” Ron came up behind Hermione, and she thankfully let go of Harry in favor of her boyfriend. 

“It was just Narcissa. But I’m going back next week too.” 

Just then Molly appeared, giving him a hug and ushering them all out of her kitchen where she was in the middle of making dinner. 

In the family room, Harry waved at the various assembled Weasleys, and consciously took a seat near Bill, where he was holding a very sleepy looking Victoire in one arm, one of her tiny hands clutching the ends of his long hair.

“Hiya Harry,” he grinned, obviously not missing the concerned looks from Ron and Hermione. “Made it out in one piece, then. I told them you’d be fine, but...” he started to shrug, but seemed to remember the infant in his arms. “You know them.” 

Harry pointedly ignored the looks, but grinned at Ron’s eldest brother. “So I’m assuming there’s a good reason you were there on a Sunday afternoon.” 

Bill snorted. “Work.” Bill had taken a curse breaking position with the Ministry after the war ended, mostly focused on purging as many Death-Eater-related cursed objects as possible. “My team got assigned to Macnair, Malfoy, and Nott manors. The others got five or six, but the Malfoys are the only ones getting curses actively hurled at them, so we get to deal with those as they come. I’m on call today.” 

Harry nodded, and then paused. “How often are they getting curses sent?” Pansy’s words about the death threats rang in his ears, and Narcissa’s obvious distress about being in public made even more sense. 

“Couple times a week, but it’s down from a few a day. Either people are losing interest or deciding that it’s not worth the effort because we’re better at our jobs than they are.” He grinned easily, but sobered slightly. 

“You okay mate?” Bill wasn’t the type to pry, and Harry was relieved when he took his “fine” at face value and proceeded to ask about Ginny’s last quidditch game. 

Wednesday he found himself back in his bedroom with Pansy digging through his wardrobe. She pulled out several old quidditch tshirts with a scrunched up nose. 

“If you keep on like this, I’m taking you shopping.” She pulled out a navy button up, then shook her head and tossed it in the significantly larger “discard” pile. She found a white shirt in the very back, and threw it at him. “Try it on.” 

While he switched over, she was pulling out various sets of robes, setting aside a black set. More tugs and whispered spells to alter it. She handed him the robes and stood back with an appraising eye. 

“That will do.” He turned to the mirror, who voiced her approval. 

“Thanks, Pansy.” She looked uninterested with his thanks, crossing her arms and leaning against the bedpost. 

“So as fun as playing dress up with you is, why for Mrs Malfoy?” 

“She saved my life, and by extension, a good chunk of the wizarding world. The least I can do is make an effort.” Pansy didn’t look convinced. 

“So send a thank you note. Tea, two weeks in a row? That’s more than gratitude.” Harry shrugged. 

“I like her. She’s… different.” Pansy’s eyebrows shot up. “I just mean she’s not like other women I know.” 

“Hmm.” Pansy waved a hand. “Well if you go in for round three, we’re going shopping. Ta ta, darling.” 

She wiggled her fingers in a goodbye wave, and Harry quickly changed back into a t-shirt and jeans to tackle more of the house’s less savory decor. Narcissa had been correct, and the counterspell was much more helpful than anything else they’d tried. 

Harry was currently working on an upstairs drawing room, and was hoping that by next week he could move on to the downstairs sitting room. Unfortunately the spell hadn’t worked on the house elf heads in the hall, nor on the portrait of Walburga Black. 

Sunday came, and once again he was pacing five minutes until three. This time Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, and he when he stepped through the floo, he did it with a smile. 


	3. Cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curses start flying...

_ March, 1999 _

Tea with Narcissa was now a weekly occurrence, without fail. Ron and Hermione had begrudgingly accepted his newfound relationship with their old nemesis’s mother, though Molly seemed to have her reservations. 

Harry supposed he couldn’t blame them, or even be surprised. But the war had softened Narcissa. She no longer looked down her nose at anyone; the semi-permanent expression of disgust Harry remembered from his school years was gone. In its place was the face of a woman who nearly lost everything, who was broken and who now saw the door world in a different light. 

Harry himself saw the world in a different light, if he was going to be honest. Through the war he saw the darkness that ravaged humanity and he still saw it in his work as an Auror. He’d found he had to appreciate the small things to balance out the darkness lest It consume him. A break in the storm to see a flash of blue sky, or a single blooming flower through the snow. At the same time, he wished people would look past what they thought they knew about him.    
  


They wouldn’t, the bastards. But he wished they would anyway. 

Maybe that’s why he was so excited to have the opportunity to speak with her candidly. Commiseration— at least at first. She seemed to see him; Just Harry. She saw her; a just mother that just wanted to save her son. 

And then he realized that he was finding some measure of comfort from her. Her presence, the way she actually listened, and the way she… Well he wasn’t sure he wanted to go as far as to say she mothered him, but Harry certainly felt that she cared, and that alone was enough to keep him going back. 

Harry was finding comfort in the fact that they liked their tea the same way; sugar, the tiniest splash of cream. They both preferred chocolate cakes over any other flavor, and neither of them particularly cared for salmon. But there was more to it than similar tastes. She quickly became not just a friend, but someone who he went to for advice and whose opinion he valued. He wanted to make her proud. Pansy had taken him shopping, and provided a list of approved outfits so she didn’t have to spend an evening every week digging through his closet, but he was getting more comfortable and confident, and even started dressing better on days he didn’t see Narcissa, simply because he thought she’d approve.

It had been nearly six months of weekly Sunday teas at the manor, but he’d yet to see Lucius, and Draco was still in France. A month or so after their first visit, she’d mentioned they didn’t hear from Draco often, that he was still angry with them for their involvement. Harry had seen the shimmer of tears she blinked away, and that was the first time he realized she was missing a son almost as much as he was missing a mother. 

Most of the time their visits consisted of an afternoon of talking aimlessly about anything and everything. Occasionally she’d drop by his desk at the Ministry if she was there, and a handful of times she’d actually come by Grimmauld Place. 

The first time she came to Grimmauld Place, she’d come to give him a book she’d found in the Malfoy Manor library on magical homes. She’d ended up having a very long conversation with Walburga Black’s portrait (Yes, Aunt Walburga, I’m still Lady Malfoy. No, Aunt Walburga. The Dark Lord lost. Please stop screaming, it really won’t do you any good. Then why don’t you give me the counterspell and I can take you down?). She had infinite patience with the portrait, and also made several decor suggestions that became some of Harry’s favorite parts of the house. 

The next time, she’d come when she heard Harry was sick, bearing fresh pepperup potions and chicken soup. Both times she shook her head as she passed the mounted heads in the hallway. A few weeks later, after one very long afternoon and several tries, Narcissa actually managed to get the mounted house elf heads off the wall, to their collective relief. 

“I told you she was brilliant,” Harry told Hermione smugly the next morning, as he and Ron enjoyed their morning sans heads on their walk down to the kitchen and Hermione’s subsequent silence on house elf rights for the first time in months. They’d made a bet that if someone could get the heads off the wall, Hermione couldn’t have her morning tirades for a year. He was going to have to spend the rest of forever thanking Narcissa for this one. 

Ron actually went to tea the following Sunday to thank her personally. After Ron stepped through the floo to the Burrow afterwards, Narcissa had given Harry a brief hug, whispering she was glad he had friends like Ron. Ron had been bewildered by Harry’s sudden bout of emotion on the other side, but Harry hadn’t realized what it meant for someone to care what kind of friends he had. That was when he knew he would move heaven and earth for Narcissa Black Malfoy. 

Two months later, he was at Malfoy Manor for tea, and Narcissa was telling him about her own days at Hogwarts. 

“I was always fond of transfiguration myself, but I was decent at charms. I used to put cheering charms on people I didn’t like in the common room. It drove them mad trying to figure out who it was,” she laughed.

“Cheering charms? That was your idea of a prank?” Harry’s face hurt from laughing with the witch. 

“You have to remember this was in Slytherin. That and spiking the punch with gigglewater was the best way to make everyone suspicious. They expected the nasty ones, especially while Bella was there. They expected the same of me, so I turned it around. Nobody expects a Slytherin, much less a Black, to attack with something so…”

“Innocent?” 

She smiled, self-satisfaction written over her face. “Exactly.”

He was about to tell her that was the most Slytherin thing he’d ever heard when several curse-breakers, including Bill, flooded in. Harry’s stomach dropped. She’d told him the threats had tapered off. 

Narcissa lost her smile, her face white as a sheet. She was on her feet before Harry could lower his teacup, her own teacup tumbling over the sofa cushions, staining them with the spilled tea. 

“Narcissa! Wait!” He was on her heels, his teacup shattering on the floor behind him. 

Bill and three others were flanking a set of large French doors, Narcissa fighting against a tall man that held her back. 

“Lucius! LUCIUS!” She was clawing at the curse-breaker’s arms, until she stopped, breathing hard. Harry reached out to her, but she drove her heel into the curse-breaker’s instep. He yelped, letting go just long enough for her to dart inside the room beyond. 

Harry started after her, and was yanked backwards, quickly incapacitated by a leg-lock jinx by Bill. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he hissed. “We don’t know what it is!” 

“Narcissa!” Harry roared, unable to see her through the stacks and shelves of the Malfoy’s massive library. 

“Harry, get up and be an Auror or shut up and get out!” Bill hollered. That got Harry’s attention and focused him. He drew his wand, ending the leg-lock, and crouched behind Bill. 

“Our wards were alerted a cursed object had passed through. This room went dark, and our wards couldn’t identify the type of curse,” Bill whispered. 

One of the curse breakers on the far side, a woman with shoulder length dark hair, made a series of hand gestures, glowing runes fading from the air. 

“We’re good to go in, but stay on your toes.” The five of them shuffled into the library, fanning out with their wands raised. 

“Here!” A man’s hoarse voice came from his left, and Harry turned and moved towards it carefully. He crept forward, wand still aloft, and caught sight of one pale, perfectly manicured hand on the floor. Despite his ache to rush to her side, he moved slowly, ensuring he wasn’t going to be ambushed or accidentally stumble across the cursed object, whatever it was. 

As he eased around the corner, his heart sank. Narcissa was unconscious on the floor, stretched out as if she was reaching for something. Lucius huddled over her fallen form, chanting her name. Harry flinched, the scene strongly reminiscent of Snape’s memory of finding Lily’s body. 

“Wait! Don’t touch—“ 

But it was too late. Lucius was stroking her hair back from her face. Harry froze, waiting for Lucius to drop beside her. But nothing happened. 

“Narcissa…” Harry’s whisper was lost in the arrival of the curse breakers. His chest grew tight and tears filled his eyes. He couldn’t have lost her too. Not now. Not like this. 

The scene swam and soon all he could see was a slash of her pale blue gown against the darkness of the carpet and her husband’s robes. For some reason all he could think about was a break in the storm clouds, showing a sliver of sky. Until…

“She’s still breathing. We need to get her to Mungo’s!” A shuffle, and the swath of sky was obscured, and Harry’s vision sharpened again. 

“But what cursed her?” Harry looked around, not seeing anything out of place on the floor. Bill was hauling Lucius to his feet while the woman with the dark hair and the curse breaker who’d tried to hold her back levitated Narcissa quickly back through the doors. 

“Potter.” Harry’s green eyes met cool grey. “Go with her.” Lucius’ voice was hoarse and breaking, and Harry froze. His pleading tone was at odds with Harry’s memories of the man. Even at their trials before the Wizengamot, Lucius hadn’t pled. For a long moment Harry didn’t move, staring at the only other man in the room that cared for Narcissa. 

Harry strode out, disappearing through the marble fireplace in a flash of emerald without another word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noooo! 
> 
> Let me know what you thought, I love theories and kudos!


	4. Lucius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is getting a bit longer than originally intended... I hope you all don’t mind!

White was streaked with lime green and maroon across Harry’s vision. He sat in an uncomfortable hard-backed chair staring at a length of white wall as healers and healer apprentices rushes past him, in and out of a nondescript door that separated him from Narcissa. He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the wall, or how many times he’d looked up hopefully whenever the door opened just to drop his gaze back to the wall at their looks of pity. 

At some point he stopped looking up, deciding that they would say something eventually. So he sat, and he stared. 

He was joined by a pair of aurors that flanked the door, their crimson robes identical to the ones that hung in his own wardrobe. Metcalfe and Pence were good aurors. Fair. Probably why Robards had assigned them, as some of the others (Smith, Jamison, and Leone came to mind) would not have tried very hard to protect Narcissa if it came down to it. 

His two colleagues stared resolutely ahead. It was no secret Harry was friends with Narcissa, as she’d been seen at his desk at the Ministry a handful of times, but Harry knew stopping for lunch and crying outside a hospital room were different levels. 

And he _was_ crying. Silent tears welled up every time he asked himself “what could I have done differently? How could I have stopped her? How could I have prevented this?” As these questions were on an endless loop in his mind, his collar and the knees of his robes were very damp. 

Such was the state of him when a senior healer left the room, his green robes’ sleeves pushed up towards his elbows and a kind expression gracing his face. 

“I understand that her family could not be present, but Mr Malfoy requested you to be treated as such in their stead.” 

Harry just blinked. The healer produced a letter, which he handed to Harry. The heavy parchment, signed Lucius A. Malfoy, indeed asked that Harry be kept informed of Narcissa’s treatment and prognosis. Additionally, it requested that Harry in turn, report back to Lucius. 

Harry read the letter several times over before handing it back to the healer, who tucked it back into a pocket and gestured towards the door. Harry hesitantly followed, suddenly unsure of himself. He caught the side eye from Pence, a woman in her late thirties that Harry had a soft spot for, despite her constantly nagging at him to finish his reports. Her barely-there nod spurred him on, and he entered the room, expecting the worst. 

Since starting as an Auror, he’d seen curses that burn the victim from the inside out, sliced the skin into ribbons and one that slowly liquify the victim from the point of contact outwards, and those were some of the kinder curses. He was not looking forward to seeing what damage had been done to Narcissa. 

To his relief, she looked… perfect. Her golden-blonde hair had been let down from its pins, and it curled over her pillow. Her skin was pale, but unblemished from what Harry could see of her face and hands. Her perfectly manicured fingers were folded over her midsection like a perfectly carved statue. _Or effigy_ , a quiet, unwelcome voice in the back of his mind whispered. 

“Is she...“ Harry looked back to the healer, not quite confident in what he even wanted to ask. 

“In a sort of sleep-like state. I believe muggles would say she is in a _coma._ As they have not yet located the cursed object, we cannot be sure of the intent of the curse, or if it will turn malignant. We’re opting to keep her here, just in case, until we have more information.”

“Can I...“ Again Harry looked to the healer, who seemed to understand. 

“Physical contact won’t hurt her. I dare say it may even help. By all means, my boy. Hold her hand and talk to her.” 

Harry nodded, sinking into a chair at her bedside. Carefully, he eased his hand into hers, pulling it towards him. Her skin was warm and dry, and so soft. Harry didn’t notice as the healer left, the door closing with a soft “click.”

He studied her face closely, looking for any sign of life other than the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. Fine lines around her eyes made him wonder if she had smiled more before the war. He hoped so. She had a lovely smile. 

He pressed his cheek to the back of her hand, still cradled in his, fresh tears dampening her skin as well as his. 

“Narcissa I’m so sorry I didn’t stop you. But why did you do it? Why did you go? Please don’t leave me too.”

He laid his head on the bed next to her hand, tears dripping onto the crisp white sheets until he drifted to sleep. 

***  
  


He woke with a start, a small hand on his shoulder pulling him from the restless, uncomfortable sleep. His head and neck ached, and his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with dry cotton. 

The woman in maroon healer’s apprentice robes handed him a glass of water, and he took it gratefully. When he handed it back he looked closer at the woman. 

“Millicent Bullstrode?” It had been a while since he’d seen her, but he was sure it was her. 

“Harry Potter,” she responded coolly. 

“I’m sorry,” he sat up straighter. “I didn’t know you were apprenticing here.” The hard line of her mouth softened slightly, and she nodded hesitantly. 

“I’ll be a full healer in six months.” 

“Good.” Harry rubbed at his face, looking around for a clock. 

“It’s after nine,” she offered, looking over the clipboard she held, writing something with a quill. “I wouldn’t have woken you, but Mr Malfoy is firecalling every half hour, and I don’t know how much more Abbott can take.”

“Hannah Abbott?” Harry hadn’t realized Hannah was working here either. Millicent just nodded. Harry looked back to Narcissa, loathe to leave her, even if it was to update her husband.

Millicent seemed to read his mind. 

“Go talk to Mr Malfoy, and get something to eat. Then go home. Get some rest. If anything changes, we’ll contact you immediately.” It sounded like orders, which was good. He could follow orders. 

He stood, and realized that at some point he’d gotten taller than the Slytherin alumnus. She jerked her head at the door. 

“Go. It won’t do you any good to make yourself ill. Let us take care of her for a bit.” 

“Thank you,” he said softly. He’d never thought he’d be thanking a Slytherin for caring for another Slytherin, who happened to be the mother of his schoolyard rival. When did the world get turned around like this? 

Millicent nodded, continuing to cast diagnostic spells and scribbling on her clipboard. 

Emerging from the room, he found Metcalfe and Pence had been replaced with Johnston and MacPhearson. He didn’t know them as well, they were on opposite schedules, but he’d heard good things about both. They both acknowledged him with a nod, which he returned before quickly disappearing through the floo. 

Malfoy Manor was quiet. Silent. Cold. 

Harry’s footsteps echoed on the marble floors, his feet taking him to the spot where a mere six hours before, he’d been having tea with Narcissa. The tea tray was long gone, and someone, a house elf, probably, had cleaned the remains of his shattered cup from the floor. Even the stain from Narcissa’s own spilled cup were gone. 

“It is her favorite please to take tea. It wouldn’t stand to be ruined for her return.” 

Harry hadn’t heard Lucius enter, but he didn’t jump, either. He turned slowly, facing the former Death Eater. 

“You sound sure that she will return,” Harry accused, his voice low. 

“Because the other option is unconscionable, Mr Potter. I may not love my wife, but I took vows to care for her.” That was news to Harry, but he hoped he managed to keep a straight, or at the very least, an angry face on. 

“We did not survive the Dark Lord in our home for two years for her to be felled by our own son.” The truth bomb did leave him dumbstruck. He gaped at the blond man, whose grey eyes flashed in barely-contained rage. 

“You think Draco did this?” Harry choked out, and Lucius clenched his jaw. 

“I do not believe this is a conversation to be shouted over a drawing room.” 

He stalked from the room, his dragon-hide boots clicking against the marble. After a stunned pause, Harry followed tentatively. They ended up in a dark paneled study, the leather armchairs and lingering smell of cigar smoke distinctively masculine. Lucius was pouring two tumblers of firewhiskey.

Harry lingered just inside the doorway until Lucius turned, raising an eyebrow and pinning him with a cold stare. 

“You’ve been welcome in my home for the last six months and _now_ you’re getting squeamish? Sit down, boy.” 

Harry considered telling him to shove it up his arse, but ultimately decided it was in his best interest to hear him out. So he sat down in the chair Lucius indicated and took the tumbler. 

Lucius took the chair opposite him, and took a bracing drink before continuing. 

“The object that they now cannot find was a silver rattle. It was Draco’s. I only caught a glimpse of it, but I would know it anywhere.”

“Why would he send an object that could be so easily traced?” Harry’s brows furrowed as he mulled over the information Lucius had given him. 

“It disappeared once she touched it. I do not think he meant for it to be seen or recognized by anyone but Narcissa.” He took another sip of his whiskey. Harry watched the man attentively. He commanded the room, as if it was the Wizengamot and not just Harry sitting before him. 

“Forgive me for saying, but I watched him try to curse someone before. This doesn’t fit with what he did previously,” Harry said carefully. “And I was under the impression that _you_ were the one he placed the majority of the blame on.”

“Which is why you need to find out why.” Lucius looked him over with cold, calculating eyes, and Harry felt distinctly like a mouse cornered by a kneazle. “Draco will come to avoid suspicion or assuage guilt. You will be there to observe him.”

Harry scoffed. “He hates me, and I’m a bloody Auror! You think he’ll tell me anything?” 

“On the contrary. I know he will.” The gleam in his silver eyes was past predatory now. It was downright deadly. Harry was just glad that for once, he wasn’t the object of his fury… Or was he? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos keep me writing. Let me know what you think!!


	5. Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a glutton for punishment. This might be a full length fic... Please don’t hate me!

Harry felt like hell. 

According to Ron, he looked even worse, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when Gawain Robards pulled him into his office ten minutes after he got there, flicking his wand to shut the door behind Harry. 

“Potter. I understand you were present at the time of the attack on Narcissa Malfoy.” The Auror Department Head was somewhere in the ballpark of a cross between Mad-Eye Moody and a cocker spaniel, as Ginny so eloquently put it one drunken night. 

“Yes, sir. I was there for tea.” Harry stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands clasped behind his back. The stance made him look significantly stronger than he felt at the moment. 

After leaving Lucius to his firewhiskey, he’d gone home and filled in Ron and Hermione. Ron seemed to be of the opinion that Lucius was barking and cursed her himself, while Hermione didn’t think it was either of the Malfoy men. Harry was more inclined to think Hermione was right, but then, she usually was. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, his thoughts continuously straying to the sight of Narcissa unconscious on the floor. 

He’d dreamt about it too. Narcissa and Lucius had morphed into Lily and Severus, to Harry over Severus’s body in the Shrieking Shack, then into himself with Narcissa hovering over him in the Forbidden Forest, and finally Narcissa fading into Draco, whispering Harry’s name. Harry had gasped awake at around four in the morning, a sheen of cold sweat making his t-shirt stick to him unpleasantly. He hadn’t bothered trying to go back to sleep. Instead he’d showered and floo’d to St Mungo’s to check on Narcissa before reporting for duty at eight. 

“Well, Potter. Your relationship with the victim puts us in a bit of a quandary.” Harry’s stomach simultaneously sunk and twisted. He was being ordered to stay away from her… and hearing her referred to as a victim made him want to be sick on the rug. She was more than just a victim to him. 

“Did Mr Malfoy share his suspicions with the responding units, sir?” Harry hoped he had, but going off of Robard’s blank look, Harry suspected not. Of fucking course not. Harry sighed, fighting the urge to storm out and lay into Lucius Malfoy for putting him in this position. Robards motioned for him to continue, so Harry took a deep breath in through his nose. 

“Mr Malfoy informed me that he is of the belief that Narcis— Mrs Malfoy— was cursed by a baby rattle that once belonged to Draco. He said he saw it in the library, and that it disappeared when she touched it. He thinks that it came from Draco himself.” 

Robards’ brown eyes (so much like a cocker spaniel’s— he was going to kill Ginny for planting that one in his head. It was so hard to keep a straight face) watched Harry steadily over his desk. Harry got the same feeling of being cornered as he had with Lucius the night before. 

“I see. And did Mr Malfoy share this… hunch… with you because of your position here with the DMLE or does he have another reason for bringing this to  _ your _ attention, specifically, and not to Bartlett or York?” A muscle in Robard’s jaw was twitching, and Harry cringed internally. Robards had taken him on after the war, but had next to zero tolerance for the “Chosen One” bullshit. Harry was normally very grateful, but occasionally it hit a nerve, and Harry bore the brunt of it. Not to mention Harry didn’t think Bartlett  _ or  _ York would have taken Lucius seriously if he’d told them instead. 

“He said that Draco would show up, and for some reason Mr Malfoy thought he would talk to me. I don’t know why, Draco and I hated each other at school, and we haven’t exactly kept in touch… But for what it’s worth, I don’t think it was him.” 

Robards rubbed a hand over his mouth, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. 

“Get back to briefing, Potter. Keep this to yourself for the time being, and tell Weasley to do the same.” Harry bit back asking him how Robards knew that he’d already told Ron.

“Yes, sir.” Harry turned on his heel and returned to his desk, where Ron, his partner Bernard “Bernie” Savage, and Harry’s partner Hestia Jones were gathered. They all looked up expectantly. He sighed again. “I’m under orders. Ron too. We can’t say anything about the Malfoys.” 

Ron glared at Robard’s door, while Bernie and Hestia shared a dark look. Harry sat heavily in his chair, pulling the stack of case files towards him. 

“Well you and I are on loan to Arthur today,” Hestia said brightly, her night-dark ponytail bobbing. Arthur Weasley headed the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, and occasionally called on the Auror office for extra manpower for big raids. They usually were quite interesting, and some of the non-cursed objects they found could be quite funny. Hestia still had an amulet on her desk that was advertised to protect against fiendfyre but actually just slowly turned one’s hair a rather delicate shade of pink, which they occasionally slipped into each other's pockets and timed to see how long it took for the victim to notice (The current record stood with Hestia getting Eleanor York’s hair to stay candy-floss pink for an impressive 7 hours and 23 minutes).

“Lucky bastards,” Ron muttered. “We got stuck on patrols. Bloody Krimen Alley to boot.” Harry snickered. Krimen Alley was the Mundungus Fletcher to Knockturn Alley’s Bellatrix Lestrange. Irritating, worthless, but ultimately a waste of time for any real Auror work. 

“You boys have fun with that. We’ll tell Arthur you said hello,” Hestia sang out as she and Harry left them to head up to Level 2. Arthur met them with a smile, explaining they’d gotten an anonymous tip about a large shipment of bogus protective potions that may have had traces of slow-acting poisons added. While Hestia coordinated with Arthur’s second in command, a witch named Alessia Peasegood, Arthur pulled him aside. 

“Bill told us about Narcissa, but I have to ask Harry. Is there any chance it was meant for you?” 

Harry blanched. He hadn’t even considered the possibility, between it being sent to the Malfoy’s house and Lucius’ claim that it was Draco’s baby rattle. 

“I don’t think so. If it was, it was worse than Draco’s attempts on Dumbledore.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling guilty that he couldn’t say more. 

“Just be careful, Harry.”

“I will,” Harry said quickly, but Arthur gave him the same disbelieving look he had back when Harry had promised not to seek out Sirius. Harry got the feeling Arthur was going to be watching carefully, so he rejoined Hestia and got to work. 

The potions they seized had to be individually tested and documented by hand, and it was late by the time they finished. Hestia was chatty through most of the day, but even she was running out of things to talk about the last hour and a half. 

“I’m starting to wonder if my hatred of potions went beyond having Snape as the potions master,” she muttered when they’d finished. Harry snorted. “Pretty sure I need to thank Bill Weasley next time I see him for making sure I passed my damn NEWTs… and then hex him for making sure I passed my damn NEWTs.” Harry laughed. 

“Did I ever tell you how I got Snape’s potions book my sixth year? He left it in the potions cupboard with all these little improvements to the potions. We didn’t know whose it was til after Dumbledire died. Slughorn thought I was a potions prodigy,” Harry chuckled. Hestia gaped at him, then shook her head. 

“I’m so glad I didn’t know you better when I was part of your detail,” she laughed. “I would have told them it was a waste of time and resources.”

“I tried to tell them that,” Harry grinned. “But who listens to me?” 

“You’d be surprised,” a smooth, slow, deep voice rumbled from behind him. Harry and Hestia both jumped to their feet. 

“Mum!” Hestia grinned at Kingsley Shacklebolt, who rolled his eyes. Since long before Kingsley had been named Minister of Magic, the old partners had been finding increasingly juvenile nicknames for each other. Mum had been Hestia’s favorite for a while now, a play on his title— MoM. Even leaning casually through the doorway, the former Auror exuded power and authority. 

“My office in thirty,” he directed at them both, withdrawing and striding down the hall towards his office. 

“What did you do now?” Hestia looked exasperatedly at her partner, who shrugged.  _ This was not going to be good.  _

Half an hour later, they were sitting across from Kingsley, with Robards looking distinctly disgruntled beside him with his arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place. Hestia recognized the solemnity of Kingsley’s expression, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Harry, hands clasped behind her back. 

Kingsley was resolutely calm, his hands folded over an envelope on his desk. Robards was less so, shifting his weight ever so slightly from foot to foot. Hestia’s nails were cutting into her palm, but she kept her expression indifferent, not daring to peak at Harry. 

“Auror Jones, Auror Potter. What is said in this room cannot leave it.” Kingsley’s voice got a touch lower. “For the sake of our careers and possibly our lives, the four of us will be the only ones to know of this in its entirety. If we mess this up, we stand the chance of losing a Death Eater… Possibly more than one.” 

Hestia’s breath caught, but she clenched her jaw and waited. She could hear Harry breathing beside her, deep and steady. Kingsley started talking again. When he was done explaining, she was cursing her damned sense of duty and honor. Sometimes she wished the stupid sorting hat had put her in Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor. Maybe then she’d be telling Kingsley that he was barmy if he thought this was the best way forward. There had to be a better way. 

“All of you, go home, get some rest.” Kingsley dismissed them with a wave of his hand. Hestia waited until Harry and Robards had cleared the room before speaking. 

“Kings…” 

He met her eyes, and Hestia realized just how tired he looked. There were fine lines around his eyes, and his dark eyes were filled with a history no one should have had to bear. His broad shoulders were weighed down with the weight of the world, and this was just one more thing on the mountain of responsibilities.  _ What I would do to relieve that for even a moment... _

“Tia, we have a duty. We swore oaths.” The nickname brought back a flood of memories, and pushed back the prickle of tears behind her eyes. She wasn’t a crier. 

“I know. I just wanted you to know that I’ve got your back, no matter what.” She couldn’t make her brain go any further than that. 

He nodded once, the gold earring he wore flashing in the low light. “I know, Tia.” 

***

The crimson robes were taunting him. The robes he should have been wearing, but wasn’t allowed to. So he sat with his back to the door, replaying the conversation with Kingsley and Robards over and over in his mind again. He thought of Hestia, and wondered who she’d be partnered with. Hopefully not Smith. She’d hex him into the next decade in the first week. Maybe Pence. She’d be good with Pence. Or Johnston? He felt sick just thinking about it. Like he’d let her down. 

So he picked up the book he’d brought that morning, settling into the hospital chair instead of his desk at the Ministry. Opening it to the first page, he cleared his throat and began to read aloud. 

“Somewhere in La Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n 10 points to whichever house you belong to if you can tell me what book he’s reading her without google 😉
> 
> Your thoughts and comments keep me going, theories are my favorite. What do you think is going to happen next?!


	6. Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa gets some visitors

April, 1999

Ten days. 

It had been ten days, and Harry was sick of his own voice and ready to start climbing the walls in Narcissa’s hospital room. But he couldn’t leave her. He couldn’t work, so every day her was there at eight until the healers ordered him to leave. Robards had been assigning the same handful of aurors to guard the door though, so thankfully he didn’t have to explain his sudden absence from the department. Even better was that Ron, Savage, and Hestia were all on rotation. He felt less alone knowing he had friends on the other side of the door. 

Though today he wasn’t alone on this side either. Pansy came by with a bouquet of tulips, her face paling as she took in Narcissa’s unnaturally still form. 

“Hermione said you’ve been her only visitor,” she said quietly, her eyes glued to a spot at the foot of the bed. 

“Er, yeah. Lucius is still on house arrest and Draco…” he trailed off, not even sure how to continue. “Have you heard from him? From Draco?” He tried, suddenly very aware he didn’t know much about Pansy’s life now. She worked at the Ministry with Hermione, but he didn’t know if she kept up with her old house-mates or who her friends were. 

“No, I haven’t. I write him every week, but he hasn’t returned any of my letters.” Pansy sat straight-backed, her ankles crossed demurely and her hands folded in her lap. The picture of a perfect pureblood lady. Just like Narcissa. Harry’s heart clenched, and he had to look away, taking several deep breaths. 

“I know I gave you a hard time when you asked for my help, but you should know how much it meant to her,” Pansy said softly. Harry’s head snapped up, and she smirked, the same expression he’d seen at school so many times directed back at him. “You didn’t honestly think you were the only guest for tea, did you?” 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I guess not.” 

Pansy was back in her element, and it was almost a comfort to have her mocking him. At least it was familiar. 

“We’ve been having tea regularly since Draco and I were betrothed our fourth year,” she explained. “When the betrothal ended, I was feeling lost and she just acted like nothing changed. She was so…”

“Consistent,” Harry smiled. “But you’d never guess a woman like her would be the kind to take in strays,” he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. 

“We aren’t strays,” Pansy sniffed. “We are  _ investments. _ ” 

Harry snorted. That was exactly what Narcissa would say. 

Pansy stayed for a while longer, chatting idly with Harry about things of little importance. He saw it for what it was, and accepted the distraction willingingly, until she glanced at her watch and regretfully told him her lunch hour was up, and she had to get back to the Ministry. Harry walked her to the floo, and decided that he needed something to eat that wasn’t from the hospital. 

The fresh air and weak, watery sunshine that Harry stepped into as he exited St Mungo’s was a relief from the stale, sterile air from the hospital. He opted for a cafe close by, eating his sandwich while perched on a bench he’d surreptitiously cast a drying charm on as he sat down. 

It was chilly, even for a spring day in London, but if he closed his eyes for a moment, the breeze reminded him of other spring days. Days he’d spent on the shores of the Black Lake and strolling to Hagrid’s for tea, accompanying Hermione to the owlery or Ron to the quidditch pitch. Spring days in Scotland, at school with his friends. That’s where his mind wandered to at times like this. 

His school days may not have been simple or easy, but his life now was even more confusing and complicated. He saw Ron and Hermione at home, but it wasn’t the same; not now he was locked out of the Ministry. It was like the summer before their fifth year; they were allowed in, but he was on the outside. Alone. 

He didn’t flinch when a woman sat beside him, but he was cautiously aware of her movements. 

“How long is my record for turning someone’s hair purple?” The woman next to him muttered so quietly that Harry almost missed it. 

He looked up to see mischievous eyes peeking out from under a grey fringe. The polyjuice could change her physical appearance, but Harry was relatively certain nothing could dampen that sparkle. 

“Trick question. It’s pink.” He nonchalantly took another bite of his sandwich, looking out across the street before him. There were plenty of people out and about, taking advantage of the break in the spring rain storms, but there was a wide, empty bubble around the two. A light Muggle-repelling charm. 

“How are you holding up?” Hestia’s voice was disguised as an elderly woman’s, but he was relieved for his partner’s presence all the same. 

“It’s like the Order all over again,” he grumbled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs.

“I know,” she said softly. “But I have good news.” 

Harry stayed still, not daring to hope they’d found how to reverse the curse. He didn’t even dare to hope that there’d be treacle tart after dinner, when he knew perfectly well Mrs Weasley had sent a whole one to him just last night, and Hermione had threatened Ron’s bollocks if he touched it, knowing full well it was going to keep Harry going today. 

The elderly woman next to him fumbled with her shopping bag, appearing to the innocent bystander to be looking for something. “Draco Malfoy is back. His portkey came through an hour ago.”  _ About damn time, too _ , went unsaid. 

The elderly woman stood, and as she shuffled past Harry, whispered, “We’ll get ‘em, Goldie.” 

Harry finished his sandwich, taking his time to not appear as if he were eager to return to St Mungo’s. When he passed through the door flanked by Ron and Bernie, he didn’t miss the look of pity Ron shot him. Nothing yet then. Maybe for the best. So he sat on the far side of Narcissa’s bed facing the door, and picked up the book he’d been reading before Pansy showed up. 

It was one of Hermione’s suggestions, an old tome she’d found in the library at Grimmauld Place on old wizarding sports. It wasn’t  _ Quidditch Through the Ages _ , but seeing as he could now quote it almost as well as Hermione could recite  _ Hogwarts; A History, _ he welcomed the change. 

He was reading a section on a sport that reminded him of a cross between billiards and Muggle golf, but played with magical cubes the size of beach balls and moving targets with various sticking and repelling charms applied when the door opened. His eyes flicked to the door, but he otherwise stayed still as the boy—no, the  _ man _ — came through. 

If Harry didn’t know better, he almost would have thought Lucius had cut his hair and taken a youthfulness potion before waltzing in. But Harry knew better. And the man that stood across from him wasn’t Lucius.   


It was Draco. 

Harry prepared first the onslaught of bitterness and resentment both towards and from him, but nothing came. It had been almost a year since he’d last seen his school rival, but he quickly realized something was different. 

The first thing Harry noticed was that there was no animosity in the grey eyes. There wasn’t much of anything that he could tell, but he knew Draco was a fairly accomplished Occlumencer now. Harry had never gotten any better, but he knew it when he saw it, and Draco had every wall and defense up he could manage. No apprehension, irritation, surprise, or fear leaked through.

The second was that he held himself differently. His arrogance from their childhood was gone, but so was the cowering, bowed posture of the broken boy he’d been after Voldemort’s downfall. He didn’t look at ease per se, but Harry didn’t expect him to. He looked… confident and controlled. 

The last and most disturbing thing Harry noticed was that Malfoy looked  _ fit _ . Time in France evidently did him well. His sickly pallor from the two years he’d spent under Voldemort’s control was gone. He was still pale, but it looked good with his platinum blond hair and light grey eyes. He’d put on some lean muscle, filling out and balancing his thin frame nicely. 

“Potter,” Draco drawled, shoving his hands in the pockets of his grey trousers, the pale blue oxford pulling attractively across his shoulders. 

Harry’s mouth was very suddenly quite dry and he might as well have had a charm sticking his tongue to the roof of his mouth.  _ Fuck. Say something you idiot.  _ “Malfoy,” he muttered, averting his eyes before Draco caught him staring. Eyes back on the book in his hands, he focused on regulating his breathing.  _ In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. Repeat.  _ He had no intention of moving, and Draco showed no sign that he expected Harry to leave. 

From the corner of his eye, Harry watched him bend, brushing a light kiss over Narcissa’s cheek. His pale hair slid down over his forehead, and he pushed it back as he straightened, one of those unconscious gestures people make after doing it a million times. Harry vaguely remembered him doing it their sixth year, as he straightened from peering into his cauldron in potions. It felt like a lifetime ago now. 

Harry tried to focus on the words printed in front of him, but he was far too aware of Draco taking the empty chair that Pansy had occupied, crossing his arms and leaning back. He realized he’d been staring at the page for far too long now, so he turned the page, and went back to his breathing.  _ In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out.  _

Eventually the pounding in his ears calmed enough for him to actually begin reading again, though due to his act, he was halfway through a chapter and had no idea what bowtruckles and doxy eggs had to do with water polo. Draco sat in silence across from him, his eyes glued on his mother’s face. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but silence wasn’t it. 

The only sounds in the room were their breathing and the intermittent sound of a page being turned. Harry was waiting for an outburst, an insult or a jibe, anything other than the silence. Anything. 

Several hours of silence later, Harry’s neck was stiff and he was fairly certain Draco hadn’t moved a muscle. That changed when the door opened yet again, and Millicent Bulstrode came through. Draco twisted around quickly, relaxing once he saw the healer. Harry closed his book, and reached up to rub the back of his neck. 

“That time already, Millie?” His voice sounded strangely loud and grating after the silence, even though he knew he’d spoken quietly. Draco showed the first emotion since he’d entered the room. One pale eyebrow shot up in surprise. 

“Afraid so, Harry. Sorry Draco, but visiting hours are over. Time to go.” She began to cast her litany of diagnostic spells, and Harry stood, stretching with a yawn. Draco likewise stood, rolling his shoulders before brushing another kiss across Narcissa’s cheek. 

Without a word to Harry or his old house-mate, he left, the door shutting with a “click” behind him. 

“I expected more fight,” Millicent observed, making notes on her clipboard. Harry rubbed at his neck again. 

“Me too,” Harry said with a sigh. He was still staring at the door when Millicent turned her sharp eyes to him. Millicent hadn’t said much on the nights she’d found him there, other than correcting him from “Millicent,” to “Millie,” and her nightly orders to go home, though she alternated every three nights with another healers apprentice named Josephine Clearwater. 

“Though I didn’t expect you of all people to be at Narcissa Malfoy’s bedside like this either, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at anything in this room,” she continued conversationally. 

“I would say I could do with fewer surprises,” Harry replied, “but at this point I’d be surprised if something changed, and that’s all I want.” For better or for worse… Anything was better than the limbo they were trapped in. 

Millie nodded understandingly, and then snapped back to bossy healer mode. “Go. If anything changes—“

“You’ll contact me. I know the drill,” Harry finished, his shoulders sagging. “See you tomorrow, Millie. Thanks again.” 

He passed through the door, Auror Johnston and MacPhearson’s suspicious eyes burning holes in his back as he went. Harry rubbed the back of his neck again while he waited for other visitors in front of him to pass through the floo. Ron better not have touched his treacle tart; Harry needed to eat the feelings he didn’t understand. 


	7. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions get asked, answers are given...

Harry was there at eight the next morning, a new book and a fresh cup of coffee in hand. Hestia and Pence flanked the door, and he nodded at them both shortly. The room was blissfully empty, so he took his seat facing the door and opened his book. 

Draco came in around ten, kissing Narcissa’s cheek before sitting in the other chair and opening a book of his own. Other than their terse greeting, they acted as if they were alone in the room. Harry got a salad from the hospital cafeteria around noon, taking it back to eat in the room. Draco hadn’t moved from his chair, but left shortly afterwards. He came back with a sandwich from a deli across the street, eating in silence as he read. 

At some point halfway through the afternoon, Harry’s mind wandered, and he found himself surreptitiously watching his former rival from the corner of his eye again. He was dressed in an ocean blue oxford and black trousers, just as finely made and perfectly fitting as yesterday’s had been. Every so often he’d reach up and push his hair away from his face even if it wasn’t falling, usually after he turned a page. Turn, push, relax. Turn, push, relax. 

Harry didn’t anticipate this much silence. It was making him antsy. At least Draco was actually moving today. The statue act from yesterday was a bit unnerving. This at least gave him something to look at.  _ He wasn’t this fit at Hogwarts, that’s for sure. _

Draco huffed a laugh at that moment, and Harry froze.  _ Fuck. Is he a Legilimens as well as an occlumens? Do you need eye contact for legilimency?  _ Harry was relatively certain he’d forgotten how to breathe. Draco’s eyes continued to skate across the page, and slowly Harry relaxed a bit, remembering how to inhale and exhale like a normal human.  _ In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out.  _

He went back to his book until he realized the sound of Draco’s page-turning had stopped. He looked up to find Draco staring at him. More specifically, staring at Harry’s bouncing leg. Harry stilled it, raising an eyebrow. Draco didn’t meet his eye, just returned to his book. Harry gave it a few minutes before he started bouncing his leg again, but this time kept his eyes on his book when Draco looked up. After several minutes he sneered, and tried to go back to reading. He lasted all of two minutes. 

“Will you just hold still?” 

“Hmm?” Harry played dumb, looking up from his book. 

“Hold. Still,” Draco grit out. “Your shoe is squeaking.” Harry plastered a look of surprise on his face. 

“Sorry.” He deliberately crossed his ankle over his knee, propping his book against his calf. He gave it a few minutes before bouncing his foot in the air. This was evidently less irritating, because it took Draco nearly twice as long to look up this time. He stared for an alarmingly long time, his eyes moving from Harry’s foot, to the book in his hands, up his chest until his gaze rested on the other man’s face. Harry kept his eyes on his book, painfully aware of the scrutiny. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be off saving the world in red robes?” Draco snapped his own book shut. Harry flicked his eyes up, green meeting grey. 

“Supposed to be,” Harry agreed, dropping his eyes back to the book.  _ Were his eyes always that color? _

“Then what are you doing?” Draco sneered, his temper finally rising. 

“Reading.” Harry held up the book, his eyes never leaving the page.  _ When I’m not acting like a fucking idiot at staring at you, that is.  _

“For two days?” _I fucking wish it was only two._

“Twelve.” 

“What?”  _ You heard me. Don’t act dumb. It’s not cute.  _

“This is day twelve, unless I’ve miscounted. I never did like maths.” Draco, on the other hand was counting back in his head. 

“You’ve been here every day since she was attacked?”  _ Oh look. You can count.  _

“Yep.” Harry flipped the page, not really reading anymore, but keeping up the act. 

“Why?”  _ Because I love her and I feel guilty as all hell? Or you know, because  _ you  _ weren’t here. _

“Nothing better to do, I suppose.”

“What about saving the world? Or did you drop the Sainthood?” Draco was sneering again. 

“Sainthood is on suspension, according to the Auror office,” Harry said evenly.  _ No thanks to you, you prat.  _

Draco scoffed. “They suspended the savior of the wizarding world?” 

“Well when he fucks up, and lands the woman that saved his ass in Mungo’s, they don’t care much, as it turns out.” Harry turned the page. Draco gaped.  _ That’s right. Nobody’s safe from fucking politics. _

“They blame you for…” He trailed off, gesturing at his mother’s prone frame. 

“Don’t you?” Harry looked up, eyes hard, letting some of the anger he felt seep into his expression. Draco was silent, snapping his mouth closed. Harry dropped his eyes back to his book, clenching his jaw as tightly as he could. He pointedly ignored Draco for the next several hours, until Millie came in. 

“Time’s up, boys.” 

“Thanks, Millie.” Harry stood, stretching. He didn’t miss Draco eyeing him as he did so, as if he was trying to decide if someone that was as polite as Harry was to a healer could have cursed his mother. He kissed her cheek, and left. This time Harry was right behind him. 

“Ready for interrogation yet, Potter?” Auror Owen Jamison jeered from his place beside the door.  _ It just had to be fucking Jamison. Wanker can go to hell.  _ Harry ignored him, striding towards the floo, passing Hannah Abbott on his way, who recoiled from the murderous expression on his face. Draco glaced back, and stopped as Harry stormed past him and through the floo. 

Draco paused in the hallway before turning back and addressing the auror that had spoken up. “Do you really think it was Potter?” 

The stocky auror looked him up and down, his lip curling in disgust. “He was the only one that could’ve, innit he?” The auror’s partner looked to be biting his tongue, so Draco turned to him. He was taller, and Draco thought he recognised him from the Ravenclaw quidditch team from his first or second year playing… He thought his name might be Romero. 

“What about you? Do you think it was Potter?” Draco demanded.

The auror shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable. “I thought he was solid. But he’s already proven he can kill, hasn’t he?” 

Draco lifted his chin. “She’s not dead yet,” he told him cooly, before turning on his heel. 

***

The next morning Harry was there at eight. Ron and Bernie flanked the doors. Draco was already in his chair, the same book from yesterday in his hand, a steaming cup sitting on the table next to his elbow. Harry sat down, offering a terse, “Malfoy,” to Draco’s “Potter.” This was going to be a long day. 

As it turned out, Draco was evidently much more of a morning person than Harry was. He hadn’t even made it through half his cup of coffee before Draco was finishing his own and tossing it in the rubbish bin from his seat. 

“I thought you’d have the entire DMLE eating out of the palm of your hand,” he said conversationally. Harry glared at him across Narcissa’s legs. “But the two last night didn’t seem to like you much,” he continued. “Though I suppose with Weasel out there, you’ve got at least one of them fooled.” He flashed his signature smirk, and Harry remembered how satisfying it was when Hermione had literally hit it off his face. He wondered if he could get away with it. 

“Do you have a point, or can I finish my coffee in peace?” Harry asked coldly, his patience already wearing thin. He’d forgotten just how easily Draco could push his buttons. 

Draco waved a hand. “I’m not stopping you.” Harry picked his book up.  _ You’re distracting as all fucking hell though. Do you always have to wear blue?  _

“So what exactly do they think you did?” Harry’s hands tensed around the book, but he didn’t look up.  _ Oh that’s better. Make me angry. Angry is better than randy.  _

“Oh come on. I missed the downfall of Perfect Potter. I’ve been waiting for this and I think I deserve details,” Draco drawled, smirk still in place. 

Harry clenched his jaw. “Since you’re such good friends, why don’t you go ask the aurors?” Harry glared over the book and took a sip of coffee.  _ Or just shut the fuck up before I start throwing things. Books. Coffee cups. Hexes. Probably in that order.  _

“Are you always so touchy in the mornings?” 

“Are you always such a git?” 

“Careful, Potter. Mother doesn’t look kindly on people insulting her baby boy.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Mummy isn’t in any kind of shape to save you, now is she?”  _ I could kill Kingsley for putting me in this position,  _ Harry thought bitterly. This is not how he wanted to be spending his days. 

“Oh I’ve noticed. And if it really was you, I’ll make you wish you’d never learned her name,” Draco dropped his voice low, all traces of his playful taunting gone.

“Careful, Malfoy. I’m still a fucking auror, and we don’t look kindly on being threatened,” Harry warned him, just as seriously.  _ And you have no fucking idea what I’ll do if it was you.  _

Draco sat back, his grey eyes cold and hard. Harry dropped his eyes back to the open page, and talked himself through breathing.  _ In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out.  _ His heart thundered in his ears, and it was a long time before he was actually retaining anything from the lines his eyes skipped over. 

Draco was quiet until after lunch. Once again they went separately, opting to bring their food back to eat in the room. Harry was getting progressively antsier, and he was rolling his shoulders when Draco once again snapped his book shut.

“So did you do it?” 

Harry stared at him incredulously. “Did you?”

Draco scoffed. “If I was going to curse anyone, why would it be the one person left on the planet that cares about me? But you…” He cocked his head to one side, lips turning down into a frown.

“Of course I didn’t fucking do it, you pointy-faced prat.”  _ It is a nicely pointed face, though,  _ Harry added internally. He’d been admiring the angles of Draco’s face on and off for the last several hours.  _ Wait. Fuck. No. Angry, not randy.  _

“Your insults haven’t gotten any better since school,” Draco smirked, self-satisfaction evident in his eyes. _I'd like to give you something to be satisfied about. Wait. FUCK. No._

“And your personality hasn’t improved since first year. Doesn’t warrant any deeper thought than I've already given it.” Harry gripped his book tighter.  _ Kingsley owes me. Forever.  _

“Aw, is Potty still thinking how to get me back for that trick with Longbottom’s remembrall?” 

“I think making you cry our first quidditch match was enough, thanks.” Harry turned the next page. “Or tricking you to get you to lead us into your common room right under your nose. That was kinda fun.”  _ Don’t show him that he can still get to you.  _

Draco narrowed his eyes. 

“Don’t believe me? Ron was there too. I’m sure he’d love to share, guarding a room gets kinda boring. Story time might break up the tedium.”  _ Hold it together. Don’t let him get a rise out of you.  _

“I don’t believe you,” Draco sneered. 

“Hermione actually brewed the polyjuice to do it, so if you want to track her down, I’m sure she’d enjoy telling you about it too. She was pretty proud… Polyjuice at twelve is rather impressive.” 

Draco was shaking his head. “No way in hell did she do it. Even Granger isn’t  _ that  _ good.”  _ Oh but she is. I’ll prove it.  _

Harry flicked his wand, calling into the hall. “Hey, Ron. Come here.” The redhead’s scowl appeared a moment later. 

“You called, your highness?”  _ Fuck you, Kingsley. Ron’s going to be pissed when he finds out. Well… More than usual. _

“Tell Malfoy here about how we snuck polyjuiced into Crabbe and Goyle second year.” Harry went back to his book, doing his best to appear disinterested and detached.  _ Even fucking Auror training didn’t prepare me for this gods-forsaken mess.  _

Draco looked outraged, and Ron lost his scowl for a grin. “You spilled your guts. It was too easy. Daddy wouldn’t tell you who opened the Chamber of Secrets, but it didn’t matter because he was dead wrong. I almost decked you when you said you hoped Hermione was going to be the next one to die . I don’t know why I didn’t… Crabbe would have gotten detention, not me…” He shrugged. “Hindsight is 20/20 as they say.” 

Draco’s jaw dropped. Harry smirked. Ron was still laughing as he returned to his spot outside the door. _Told you._

“How did you idiots not get expelled?” Draco was staring incredulously at Harry, who was still pretending to read his book calmly. 

“Well Dumbledore was leading me like a lamb to slaughter, so I suppose that had something to do with it,” Harry said casually. “Though Snape tried, when we crashed Arthur Weasley’s car into the whomping willow… That was even before the polyjuice though.”  _ How long am I supposed to keep this up?  _

“Do you have absolutely no sense of self-preservation?” Draco looked disgusted. “No wonder you weren’t a Slytherin.” 

“Actually I nearly was. But then you’d already been sorted and I didn’t want to sit with a git like you, so I asked for Gryffindor. The hat was kind enough to oblige me.” Harry scratched his nose idly.  _ Go back to being an arse. Wait don’t think about his arse.  _

“Now I know you’re lying.” Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. 

“Parseltongue,” Harry said flatly, pointing at himself. “You really think that was a fluke?” He chose not to include that it was probably because he literally had a piece of Voldemort’s soul stuck to him.  _ Why am I telling him  _ any  _ of this? _

“Good fucking hell, Potter.” Draco looked dumbstruck, flinging his book onto the table next to him and leaning forward. 

“Now are we done with the interrogation, or do you want to know who my first kiss was too?”  _ Please don’t answer that. _

“Everyone knows it was Weaselette,” Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Cho Chang, actually.”  _ Don’t pull your wand, don’t pull your wand. Narcissa will never speak to you again if you hex her son. If she wakes up. No. When. When she wakes up. _

“The Ravenclaw seeker that dated--”

“Cedric, yeah. Though now I look back, I probably would have liked him better.” Harry laughed at Draco’s shocked expression.  _ Okay that may have been worth it.  _

“Bloody hell, Potter. I’m starting to think I don’t know you at all.” He suddenly leaned back, crossing his arms again. 

“You don’t,” Harry said bluntly. “But Narcissa did.” He let the revelation hang in the air as he checked his watch. Nearly four. “As fun as this was, I’ve got an appointment.”  _ Thank Merlin. I need out of here.  _

“With the dementors? Draco smirked.

“Close. With your father.” Harry didn’t miss when what little color in Draco’s face drained out of it.  _ Interesting. Maybe this wasn’t for nothing after all.  _

Harry left his book on the chair, and just before he made it out, Draco spoke up again. “Don’t trust him, Potter.” 

Harry turned back slowly. Draco was facing away from him, but Harry could see his reflection in the window on the far wall. He was looking down at Narcissa, the sadness in his eyes matching the feeling Harry had every time he let himself consider what it meant that she was in that bed.

“I don’t trust anyone. Occupational hazard.” He turned and slammed the door firmly behind him. _I am so fucked._


	8. Bad Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An evening of bad ideas leads to the worst one yet.

Harry was going to lose his ever loving mind. Or perhaps he already had. That was a distinct possibility. He was still musing over the prospect that _he_ had been the one that had been cursed and was now lying in an overly-sterile room at St Mungo’s, this entire nightmare having been concocted by his subconscious when he strode through the floo at Malfoy Manor. He didn’t bother to wait for a house elf or for Lucius to find him. 

He walked right into his study, and dropped on the sofa. Lucius looked up from his desk, his lip curling. Harry ignored it. 

“Well?” 

“Well what? It’s been three days. So far I’ve done all the bloody talking, so your little theory that Draco is going to talk to me isn’t holding much water.” Harry was annoyed with the man for so many reasons, not the least of which was the look he was currently sporting, that roughly translated into “I’m not wrong, you’re just an idiot,” in Lucius-Malfoy-speak. Or maybe it was Slytherin-speak. He’d seen similar expressions on Snape and Draco, too. 

“Then give it more time.” Lucius said it like it was obvious, like he had all the time in the world for his son to break down and admit to his rival that he’d cursed his own mother into what seemed to be a breathing corpse. 

“How much fucking time do you want to let her sit there like that?” Harry’s patience with the man was at a breaking point, and he didn’t particularly care if he offended him. 

“As long as it takes,” he sneered, and Harry had enough. He stood and left without another word. Lucius was going to get him back for that, but Harry really didn’t care. He wanted to go home and not look at a bloody Malfoy and not think about the sham his life was turning out to be. And maybe drink. 

No, he was _definitely_ going to drink. 

Flooing back to Grimmauld place, he stepped out of the fireplace and into the drawing room. The same room that Narcissa had helped redecorate and the room Hestia was currently sprawled over Harry’s favorite sofa in.

“Harry!”

“Tia.” He was in a right foul mood, and seeing his partner that wasn’t really his partner wasn’t particularly helping the situation. Talking about it was going to make it worse, he was certain. About the same level of certainty that he’d had that he was going to hate his life after leaving Kingsley's office two weeks prior. That was to say, he was completely certain. 

“Are you doing okay? Ron said you left early.”

“I had to talk to Lucius Malfoy and the bastard isn’t being any help,” Harry grumbled, dropping into a chair next to Hestia. She pressed her lips into a thin line, shifting her eyes to a point somewhere over Harry’s left shoulder. “Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” she protested, finally meeting his gaze. Her deep blue eyes reminded Harry of a summer’s night sky, and now they were twinkling just as merrily. She knew exactly what she was doing. Damn her. 

“Can’t you just let me complain for _five sodding minutes_?” Harry crossed his arms and glared petulantly at the witch, who promptly went back to eyeing the space over his left shoulder.

“Complain away,” she grinned.

“You’re the one that asked!”

“And now I’m waiting for the infamous chip to appear. So do carry on.” 

It was something Tonks had done. Harry wasn’t sure how or when it originated, but he remembered her doing it to Remus and Sirius, much to Remus’ displeasure. Hestia had been Tonks’ best friend, and evidently took up the mantle when Tonks died. A mantle that she wielded all too happily against Harry and occasionally Kingsley. Harry had seen her try it on Ron, and he either was too thick to understand the joke, or was much better at ignoring Hestia that Harry and Kingsley were. Bernie would just shut his mouth and stare right back.

“You are the worst,” Harry told her, and she grinned wider. 

“Okay okay I’m done. But really. That's a really small room to be in for two weeks.”

“Trust me, I’m all too aware. Is Kingsley ready to pull his head out and let me come back to work yet?” She flinched, and shook her head. “I didn’t think so. So why are you here?” 

“Can’t your partner come and keep you company on a Friday night?” 

“That would require a partner in the first place, which I don’t have, and yours is Pence. Or did you forget already?” 

Hestia scoffed, and her grin faded into a scowl. “You’re my partner, Harry. I don’t give a flying fuck what the roster says right now. I’m not giving you a choice. I haven’t had a partner like you since--” She stopped, and shook her head, her dark ponytail flying.

Since Tonks. She didn't have to say it, he knew. He knew it like he knew that he was Narcissa's best shot, and like he knew Hestia was his. 

Harry’s shoulders sagged, and he felt the weight of the past two weeks pulling him under like an unbound anchor sinking into the endless depths of the ocean. “I’ve missed you too.” 

***

Several hours and most of a bottle of Ogden’s Best Firewhiskey later, Hestia was sprawled over the sofa, and Harry was on his back on the rug. He was watching her ponytail sway over the arm every time she moved, wondering why girls’ hair always seemed to be in constant motion, and what it meant that Narcissa’s was so painfully still. 

Hestia was babbling about something, and Harry reached up, flicking the end of her ponytail when it slowed too much. He finally focused when she threw out a name that had been on the tip of his tongue since the third shot of whiskey. 

She huffed a laugh. “You’re shit at hiding your feelings, you know that?” 

“Yeah, but so are you.”

“Are you going to tell him you fancy him or just dance around it?”

“I’ll tell my man if you tell yours,” Harry snorted. Hestia was quiet for a long moment.

“You know why that’s a bad idea,” she said sadly, and Harry knew all too well. “I know I shouldn’t resent him for taking it, but part of me can’t help it.” Hestia waved a hand vaguely through the air, and a gust of wind blew through the room, rustling pages of a book left open on the end table and ruffling Harry’s already unruly hair. Her own ponytail swayed in the breeze, and she sighed, the rush of air fading away like a whisper.

“The fucking war,” she spat. “It ruined everything. It took so much from so many of us… You _died._ My best friend _died_ . It took everything and it’s still _taking.”_ Hestia wasn’t normally so maudlin when she drank, but Harry couldn’t exactly blame her tonight. The one year anniversary of the final battle was looming, the man she loved was slowly being consumed before her eyes, and Harry… Well he had his own problems that were just making hers worse. 

So he did the sensible thing and pried the bottle from her tiny and impossibly strong fingers, and banished it to the kitchen. 

“So take it back.”

“Take what back?” She looked around blearily, tears clinging to her eyelashes. 

“Your life. Control. Whatever. Don’t let the stupid war take any more.” 

“Harry,” she smiled as if he’d just said the most endearing thing she’d ever heard. “You’re a bloody idiot.” She threw her arm over her eyes, as if her elbow could keep her from seeing the truth of the lies they were weaving around themselves. 

Harry had to agree, because he’d spent the last hour formulating a plan to get himself out of that damn hospital room, and damn him if it wasn’t a bloody terrible idea. 

He was going to seduce Draco Malfoy. 

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short one, but important all the same!


	9. Common Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for any mistakes, literally posting this courtside from an NBA game between my home state and my current state teams. #GoSuns #GoJazz
> 
> Read on, loves!

Harry awoke the next morning with a splitting headache and the distinct feeling someone had stuffed his mouth full of cotton while he’d slept. 

Hestia had retreated through the floo around three, and Harry had taken her place on the sofa. He’d fallen asleep to fantasies of pressing Draco against a wall and kissing him until he was breathless. The firewhiskey had whispered encouragement and in the depths of the night, his plan was terrible but doable. 

In the morning light with a hangover and a raging hard on, his plan was terrible and definitely Not An Option. It was honestly right up there with some of the stupider things he’d suggested, such as going to the Ministry to rescue Sirius and taking divination at Hogwarts. 

He very quickly came to three conclusions. One, he needed a hangover cure ASAP. Two, there would be no seduction attempts towards the blonde git with the pretty face. Three, he could absolutely never drink in the presence of the blond git with the pretty face. He would absolutely not allow that to happen, lest Drunk Harry thought it was a good idea to ruin Sober Harry’s life and social standing before either of them hit 25. Not that he particularly cared for social standing, but he felt that getting involved with Draco would mean even more publicity that neither of them wanted. 

He lay there for a while, hoping that not moving would help his stomach, but when he could stand it no longer, he stumbled to the bathroom down the hall and pried a vial of hangover potion out from behind Ron’s cauldron. They’d taken to hiding them from Hermione, whose disapproval made hangovers more hellish, and Harry strongly suspected she tampered with them to make them taste even worse than they already did. 

He swallowed the contents, the first swallow making him gag, but the relief that followed made it worth it. Glancing at his watch, he groaned when he realized it was barely past eight. Half an hour, a shower, and a cup of strong coffee later, he was striding through the floo of St Mungo’s. Bernie and Ron were back today, and Ron raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. 

He opened the door, and immediately was on edge. Draco was already there, head bent down over Narcissa’s hand; it was the pitiful sniffling coming from him that gave Harry pause. He flashed back uncomfortably to the last time he’d entered a room to find Draco Malfoy crying. Draco had nearly died at Harry’s wand, and the scene had haunted him for the last two years. 

Harry froze, half of him seeing Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, half of him aware that he was in Narcissa’s room at St Mungo’s. All of him wanted to turn and run. It was too late, though. Draco had looked up at the reflection in the window. The dark grey storm clouds outside showed all too clearly how pale Harry had gone, and when their eyes locked in the reflection, Harry’s chest seized. 

Draco had dropped his occlumency walls, and all of his fear, misery, uncertainty, and agony slammed into Harry in a way that he hadn’t known was possible without legilimency. Harry wondered if Draco was feeling similarly affected, because he released a breath in a pained ‘whoosh.’ Harry couldn’t tear his eyes from the set looking back at him from the window, until a flash of lightning lit the sky and a crack of thunder shook the windows. It brought him back to his senses, and Harry stepped back, pressing his back to the door and dropping his eyes to the floor. 

Neither man said a word, the silence dragging out between them, until Harry took a deep breath and crossed the room. He sat heavily in his chair, retrieving his book and cracking it open without looking back up. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, but he wasn’t going to run. The damned hat put him in Gryffindor for a reason, he reasoned, and he wasn’t going to fall back on Slytherin self-preservation now. 

Draco, on the other hand, was a Slytherin through and through. Harry watched him through his lashes, wondering if he was going to flee, or stay and pretend nothing had happened. Harry was shocked then, when Draco sat back in his chair, and stared at Harry for quite some time. He finally shook his head, and said, “You look like shit, Potter.” 

“Hangover,” he muttered, not looking up from his book. Harry had noticed the dark circles under Draco’s eyes, and doubted he felt any better than Harry did, but he kept it to himself for the time being. 

Draco just hummed, but Harry could feel his appraising gaze lingering over him until another flash of lightning lit the sky. Harry watched him try to suppress a shudder, but didn’t quite cover it. Harry heard the first raindrops striking the window, and he wished he could throw it open to let the cool air in. He felt as if his skin was on fire, the still air in the room nearly boiling. Part of him blamed the hangover, but he knew the burning came more from the grey eyes across from him than the lingering after-effects of too much alcohol. 

His heart slowly calmed, though he could see the thunder and lightning was keeping his companion from relaxing at all from whatever it was they’d experienced when he’d come in.  _ Interesting, _ he mused. 

With the next flash of lightning, he looked up nonchalantly, just in time to catch the flash of fear that followed the flash of light. He raised an eyebrow, earning himself a scowl from the blond. 

“Not all of us are fearless, Potter,” Draco spat defensively. 

Harry blinked at him, and set his book down in his lap. “We all have our demons. I don’t do well in small spaces. Muggles call it claustrophobia.”  _ Why did I say that? _

“Why are you telling me this?” Draco looked morbidly curious that his one-time rival would willingly share his weaknesses with him.  _ Good fucking question.  _ Harry would readily admit (to anyone other than Draco) that he had no clue why he was being so open with the other wizard. It almost felt as if he’d been slipped a tongue-loosening and truth serum. 

Harry shrugged. “Wanted to set the record straight, I s'pose. Though I do recall you trying to scare me off my broom at one point, so I know you don’t think I’m totally fearless.” Harry cocked his head to one side, watching pink patches fade into view over Draco’s high cheekbones. “Though to set that one clear too, dementors made me hear my mum screaming as she died, so…” He trailed off, watching the pink get brighter, something akin to shame flicker across his features.  _ Never thought I’d see the day Draco Malfoy felt bad for tormenting me.  _

He picked his book back up, but before he could find his page, lightning flashed through the window, and he glanced back up to find Draco already looking towards him, as if he was looking for an anchor to keep him grounded. Harry felt a surge of  _ something  _ that he wasn’t willing to read too deeply into, but it drove the next words from his mouth before he could stop them.

“Are you okay?” The flush on Draco’s cheeks hadn’t dissipated, and his breathing was too fast and too shallow. 

“I’m fine,” Draco snapped, but Harry was fairly certain he was either having or on the brink of a panic attack. 

“Take a deep breath in, hold it, then let it out slowly,” Harry directed, pushing the book away again and leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees.  _ Please don’t lose your head. Please don’t lose your head.  _

“I’ve been breathing on my own for quite some ti--” A flash of lightning lit the room, and Draco’s breathing hitched, a small squeak escaping him. 

“In. Hold. Out.” Harry stood and pulled the curtains over the window, hoping it would be enough to keep Draco calm. When he turned back around, grey eyes were still on him, tendrils of desperation breaking through his occlumency walls like ivy through stone.  _ I could get used to that,  _ a voice said in the back of his mind. Harry had always felt better when he could play the part of protector; Hermione and Ginny were always quick to point it out. 

Slowly, Draco’s breathing slowed, and he dropped his head down to the white sheets next to Narcissa’s hand, his hands clasped above his head. Harry stood, slipping out into the hall. 

When he returned a few minutes later, Harry set the cup of tea down on the table beside Draco, and retook his seat. A minute later, Harry realized that he’d fallen asleep; his breathing was slow and even, his hands, while still clasped, were relaxed. If he slept too long, he’d wake up with a crick in his neck, but for now Harry was content to let him sleep. 

He pointed his wand at the tea, casting a stasis charm and allowed himself a moment to look at the top of his very blond head. He wanted to card his fingers through him, to soothe him. Harry may have decided against seducing him, but suddenly he was thinking that showing him a bit of friendly humanity and compassion might do more than he’d previously thought… The desire to touch his hair probably went beyond that though.  _ Bugger.  _

He went back to his Auror training.  _ Build rapport. Find common ground. Share experiences. Be empathetic.  _ Based on where he was, Harry felt fairly confident that that was something he could manage. Hell, he’d been doing it unconsciously since Draco had walked in, hadn’t he? So he just had to keep going. Push a bit. 

Another flash of lightning lit the room through the curtains, and Harry watched carefully for any sign that Draco was waking. His breathing stayed steady though, and Harry relaxed slightly. 

He sat back to consider what he knew about Draco, what they shared and could be built upon. Narcissa was the obvious answer. Quidditch, maybe. The war, but he didn’t think they’d be getting all chummy over that anytime soon. Sexuality… Harry knew from Narcissa and Pansy that Draco was gay, but Draco himself hadn’t said anything, and Harry wasn’t going to press the issue. That fell too closely under the seduction umbrella and was therefore Not An Option. 

What he and Draco didn’t have in common seemed to makeup a significantly larger list. Their upbringings, their time in rival houses at Hogwarts, even Draco’s intelligence and drive for academic achievement was more in line with Hermione than Harry. Draco was refined where Harry was a bit rough around the edges, and Harry’s fame had always rubbed the other man the wrong way. Their lives over the last year had gone in nearly opposite directions, and Harry realized that he knew little of Draco’s opinions on things ranging from his favorite color to what he thought of the new Ministry of Magic. 

Maybe that’s where he should start. 

When Draco woke up a while later, the worst of the thunder and lightning had passed, and Harry was again reading his book, his own cup of tea in hand. He didn’t look up when Draco straightened and stretched hesitantly, dragging his hands over his face. He sat back in the chair, and stilled when he saw the disposable cup of tea waiting next to him. 

“It’s just tea, and poison is a bit too Slytherin for me,” Harry said lightly, chancing a glance up as he turned the page. 

Draco snorted, but took the cup and took a sip anyway. Based on his lack of hurled insults, Harry would be willing to wager that he’d correctly guessed that Draco took his tea the same way Narcissa and Harry did. Sweet, not too milky. 

The rest of the day was spent in silence, until Josephine came in. 

“Where’s Millie?” Draco couldn’t hide the spike of panic, and he looked towards Harry for explanation.

“It’s her day off. They rotate three on, three off. Josie’s great, though. You don’t have to worry.” Harry’s ego was getting quite the workout today, and he didn’t in the slightest. 

The petite blonde witch flashed Harry a smile. “Josephine Clearwater, Mr Malfoy. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Her heart-shaped face still held  a genuine smile as she turned to him, and Draco relaxed slightly. “Have a good night boys. I’ll see you both tomorrow,” she said knowingly, and Harry stood while Draco brushed his customary kiss across his mother’s cheek. 

Harry held the door open for Draco, and realized with a start as Draco brushed past that he was now several inches taller than Harry was. And he smelled bloody intoxicating in close proximity. Expensive aftershave and something that reminded him of autumn, despite it being April.  _ Not An Option,  _ Harry reminded himself quickly. 

Either luckily or damnably, Jamison and Romero were back on duty, and Jamison wasted no time in taunting Harry as they passed into the hallway. Luckily, all thoughts of arousal were quickly pushed aside, but Harry didn’t know if his temper would hold.

“What does it feel like to go from savior of the world to Britain’s greatest cock-up, Potter?” Jamison sported a smirk that would have looked at home on Draco’s face, but Harry ignored it.”Still waiting to see if they’ll let you back after this… I noticed you’re not on next week’s roster, either. Shame, isn’t it? Maybe Robards is waiting to see if she dies or not.” 

Harry bit back a retort, and was surprised when the man next to him spun to face the auror. “Shut. Up,” Draco snarled. “That's my  _ mother,  _ and you should learn some respect. I think an apology is due.” 

Jamison sobered slightly. “My apologies, Mr Malfoy.” 

Draco’s sneer was a work of art, Harry thought; it was so much better when it wasn’t directed at him. Jamison’s face was also priceless. He knew what would happen if word of this got back to Robards. 

“Not to me, you fucking imbicile.” He gestured sharply to Harry, who had paused when Draco stopped to confront his colleague. Jamison’s face contorted, and Romero was doing a very good job of repressing his amusement. 

“Apologies, Potter,” Jamison spat out after a pregnant pause. Draco’s look of disgust lingered, and Harry grunted his acknowledgement. Draco stalked away from the three aurors, and Harry followed close behind him, only reaching him at the floo.

“What the hell, Malfoy?” Harry’s incredulity was boiling over.  _ Did he really just defend me? What does that even mean?  _

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Potter.” Draco’s equally low, non-answer was followed by a flash of green flame and he was gone, leaving Harry to stare at the flames that once again burned red and gold. Harry had been looking for common ground, but this was uncharted territory. 


	10. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets get spilled...

“OY!” Ron was standing in the door of the kitchen, his fists on his hips and his eyebrows drawn together. “What the hell is going on, mate?” 

Harry sighed, setting down his fork and leaning back in his chair. “Going on with what,” he asked carefully. He was actually surprised that Ron had made it this long. He was sure his best friend would have burst three days in. Over two weeks was impressive. 

“Why have you been pulled off duty and why aren’t you putting up a fight?” The tips of his ears were red, and Harry idly wondered how long he’d been stewing.

“Because Kingsley felt that my involvement would jeopardize our cases. I feel guilty enough, I don’t need other ruined cases on my head too.” Harry felt defeated as he parroted back the response he’d prepared right after Kingsley had informed him that he was being pulled. 

“But… But… Not even desk duty?” Ron looked outraged on Harry’s behalf, and Harry shook his head. 

“I asked not to be. I’d rather be with Narcissa than being ogled at the ministry. “Harry motioned for Ron to sit, summoning a place setting and pushing the shepherd’s pie toward him. Predictably, he dug in with fervor, and Harry had a moment to steel himself for what came next. 

“Still, being at the ministry can’t be as bad as sitting there with the ferret all day,” Ron mumbled through a mouthful of food. Harry pushed his fork through the food on his plate and waited until Ron had taken another large bite before shrugging. 

“He demanded Jamison apologize to me today. I thought Jamison was going to erupt,” Harry said lightly, dexterously flinging up a shield charm as Ron choked on his food. 

“He what?” Ron’s eyes grew large, bits of potato sticking to the front of his robes.

“Jamison was being his normal prick-ish self and Malfoy bit his head off. You should have seen his face.” 

Ron gaped at Harry like he’d grown a second head. “Are you sure it was him? Like it wasn’t someone taking the mickey with polyjuice?”

“I was with him for hours. He didn’t have a chance to take polyjuice. It was him.” Harry didn’t mention that all of his mannerisms matched. The way he pushed his hair back, the way he kissed Narcissa’s cheek, down to the self-righteous arrogance that had melted away when the storm had started. He definitely had no intention of telling Ron of Draco’s panic attack. That was a secret he’d keep to his grave.

“Did he imperious you?” Ron looked up from where he was charming his scarlet robes clean, narrowing his eyes at Harry from across the table. Harry rolled his eyes in response. “Hey! I was expecting hexes and insults to the death, you can’t tell me that he defended you and be surprised that I think it’s odd. We spent seven years hating each other.” 

“It was more like six,” Harry said reasonably. “And you’re fine with Pansy.” 

“Hermione threatened to hex my bollocks off if I was rude to Pansy,” Ron muttered, still looking at Harry suspiciously. 

“Narcissa would have more than my balls if I hurt Malfoy,” Harry snorted. 

This seemed to placate Ron, because he turned back to his food and asked if Harry was still planning on going to Ginny’s match with the Holyhead Harpies the following Wednesday. With assurances that Harry wouldn’t miss it, they settled back into their easy friendship, Ron mollified and Harry relieved that his friend had dropped it without much trouble.

That night, they played several rounds of Wizards chess, and Harry retired with the relieved feeling that his friendship might survive the ordeal. 

The next morning, Harry arrived to find he’d beaten Draco there, so he took the opportunity to talk to Narcissa for a moment. 

“I would do anything for you to wake up, Narcissa,” he began quietly, staring at her hand nearest him. A slim silver band glinted on her ring finger. “It’s Sunday, but it doesn’t feel right without tea at the manor.” He let his head hang down, his elbows braced on his knees. “I’m doing the best I can, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. I know you’d tell me to stand up straight and push through, but it would be so much easier if I’d just know for sure you’d be okay. I’d do anything for you.” 

He was so engrossed in his one sided conversation, he didn’t hear the door open, and with his eyes closed tightly against the tears threatening to fall, he didn’t see the look of surprised pain that flitted across Draco’s face. 

“I miss you. Gods, Narcissa I miss you.” Harry clasped his hands tightly before him, his knuckles turning white. 

Draco intentionally pulled back, shuffling slightly to alert Harry he was no longer alone, but not before he’d been quiet for a few heartbeats. Draco took his place after kissing his mother’s cheek, and ignored Harry’s bent figure until he sat up, eyes clear and shoulders squared; he reached for his book and Draco waited a bit longer. 

“So Potter. I’ve been thinking.” 

Harry stiffened, and Draco let out a sharp huff of air. Harry looked up slowly, trying to ignore how nice he looked in shades of pale blue and charcoal grey. Harry was fairly certain his entire wardrobe was made in shades of blue and grey. 

“And?” He arched an eyebrow, hoping it came off as impassive and not impassioned. 

“Could you get the files from all the previous attempts on my parents?” Draco’s occlumency walls were back up, his face dispassionate and cold. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What about ‘suspended from duty’ is it that makes you think they’ll just hand me case files?” 

“Would they give them to me?” 

Harry’s face contorted in confusion. “Not bloody likely.” He cocked his head, snapping his book shut. “Why do you want them?” 

Draco drew a shuddering breath, glaring away from Narcissa. “I might see something you lot don’t.” 

Harry turned over Draco’s words in his head. “Because you were…”

Harry didn’t miss Draco’s eyes flicking to the inside of his left forearm, where the Dark Mark was branded into his skin. 

“We don’t know it was a Death Eater,” Harry said as calmly as he could, his heart speeding up, hammering out a staccato rhythm in his chest. 

“You don’t know that it wasn’t,” Draco insisted, his eyes snapping back to Harry’s, cold determination clear. “And I distinctly remember you having a distinct lack of respect for whatever rules were imposed upon you. I don’t think you’ve changed  _ that  _ much, Potter.” 

Harry lifted his chin, meeting Draco’s steady gaze. “ _ If  _ I could get the files, and  _ if  _ you found something, how do you propose getting that information in the right hands?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I hardly think you’ve fallen completely out of favor with the entire DMLE. You’ll think of something.” 

Harry let out a strangled noise of disbelief. “What makes you think I’m going to get tangled up in this?” 

Draco looked pointedly at his mother, laying unnaturally still against the stark white sheets. Harry’s shoulders slumped. 

“Fucking Slytherins,” he moaned, burying his face in his hands. 

“Says the one that was just saying how he was nearly put in Slytherin,” Draco drawled, crossing his arms tightly. 

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.” Harry’s mind was already racing around the possibilities, the plans, and the potential consequences. Draco looked smug, and returned to a book of his own. 

The day dragged slowly, and Harry couldn’t calm his mind enough to focus on the book before him. By the time five rolled around, he was itching to leave the small room. Draco looked around, narrowing his eyes as Harry stood. 

“Dinner with the Weasleys,” he said lightly, answering Draco’s unasked question. “Mrs Weasley doesn’t give passes unless you’re dead.” 

Draco snorted, and turned back to his book, seemingly unperturbed. Harry paused at the door, wondering if he should tell Draco he’d be back afterwards. Deciding against it, he strode past the aurors flanking the doors without a second glance, he stepped through the floo. 

Two hours and too much to eat later, he was pleased to see Johnston and MacPhearson were once again posted at the door. The promise of no additional awkward encounters that night bolstered his mood, and he slipped into Narcissa’s room to find Draco looking pensive, his eyes trained on his mother’s face. He was stretched out in his usual chair, his long legs crossed in front of him. His arms were likewise crossed, as if he was closing himself off to the woman that lay prone before him. 

His eyes flicked up to Harry’s as the door opened, and this time Harry was prepared for the onslaught of emotion that hit him. He recognized the guilt, the helplessness, the anguish and the fury that engulfed him; he felt much of the same, though Harry’s was dampened by sheer force of will and determination to find the bastard that did this to Narcissa. What caught him off guard was the undercurrent of gratitude and… Something else. 

Draco was the one to break their tenuous bond, wrenching his eyes away and scrubbing a hand across his face. 

Harry considered telling him he was working on getting the files, but there was no point in getting his hopes up, so Harry stayed quiet, retaking his place and picking up his book. He swore the clock had been charmed to tick extra loudly and even more slowly, and by the time Josie came in, Harry felt as if it had been days, not hours since he’d come back from the Burrow. 

The next morning, he shuffled past Ron and Bernie, not missing the subtle nod from Ron. He joined Draco, and tried not to give away his secret as he waited. At ten minutes to noon, Pansy came through the door. 

“Harry, darling. Please remember in the future I am not your packmule.” She wrinkled her nose, setting her purse down. 

Harry grinned at her sheepishly. “Sorry, Pansy. You were the first one I could think of that wouldn’t look suspicious coming in here from the Ministry.”

“I suppose it could have been worse. This really is quite nice…” she trailed off as she reached both hands into her purse, her arms sinking down past her elbows. Harry recognized it as the same set of spells that Hermione had used on her own bag the year before. “Do you think Hermione would do this on all my bags?” 

She brought up a stack of files, handing them to Harry and plunging in for another stack. When she had pulled out the last of them, the files in Harry’s arms teetered dangerously and he couldn’t see over them. 

Pushing them onto the counter beside Pansy, he looked back to see Draco looking vaguely ill. 

“These are all the curses sent to my parents in the last year?” Draco eyed the pile as if it was one of Seamus’s cauldrons; primed to blow up at the slightest provocation. 

“No, these are the ones that made it through the wards. The ones that didn’t would fill a small room.” What little color remained in Draco’s face drained away, and Harry kicked himself for not being more diplomatic. 

“Pretty sure your fan mail would still take a room three times the size, and then some,” Pansy added with a smirk. Harry’s face burned, but it had the desired effect and Draco rolled his eyes, seeming to recover slightly from his shock. 

“Oh Pansy. Never change.” He smirked at his old house-mate, and she sniffed at him, lifting her chin defiantly. 

“Oh so  _ now _ I’m worth speaking to?” She narrowed her eyes at Draco. “Not  _ one  _ reply in the last year, but you think you can tell  _ me  _ not to change?” 

Harry could see Draco quell beneath Pansy’s righteous anger, and he turned away to leave them to their reconciliation. Taking the first file from the top, he flipped through it. Flesh-eating curse attached to a human skull. Charming. 

“I suck, we get it.” Draco said petulantly from behind him, and Harry’s mind went directly into the gutter. 

“I bet you do” Harry muttered, and then froze when he realized he’d spoken out loud; a sharp, cackling laugh told him Pansy was far more appreciative of the situation that Harry was strictly comfortable with. But then, it was his own fault for not holding his tongue. 

Draco let out an indignant squeak, and Harry looked sheepishly back over his shoulder. “Oops.” 

“That may be the most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen from a Gryffindor,” Pansy cackled, now nearly doubled over in mirth. “You hit the nail on the head!” 

“Excuse me!” Draco’s eyes flashed as Pansy wiped delicately beneath her eyes, attempting to salvage her eye makeup. 

“Draco darling, don’t be daft. I’ve known since fourth year.” Residual giggles escaped, and she sighed deeply. “What I wish I had known fourth year is how utterly priceless having a couple of Gryffindors around can be.” At Draco’s incredulous look, Pansy rolled her eyes. “If you were straight, you would have jumped at the chance to get in my pants, no matter how annoying you thought I was.” 

Harry snorted, and awkwardly tried to cover it with a cough. Draco’s withering glare didn’t phase Pansy or Harry, and he crossed his arms, looking more like the spoiled boy Harry remembered than he had since walking through the door the previous week. 

“Then how did you know?” Draco glared at Harry, and Harry’s eyes flicked to Narcissa. “Seriously? Mother knows?” Panic touched his eyes, eliciting an impressively in-sync eye roll from Pansy and Harry. 

“Why do you think our betrothal was ended?” Pansy shook her head even as Harry talked over her.   


“She’s known for ages, she asked how to bring it up like a month into our weekly teas…” 

“Mother asked  _ you  _ for advice?” Draco looked positively gobsmacked, and Harry felt a rush of satisfaction. 

“Almost as shocking as Harry asking me to take him shopping, isn’t it?” Pansy’s glee was growing, and Harry narrowed his eyes at her. 

“You went shopping? With  _ Pansy _ ? And you made it out  _ alive?”  _

“You had to have noticed he doesn’t look like as much of a slob anymore.”

“Oh come on, I survived Voldemort twice, you think  _ she  _ scares me?” Again Pansy and Harry overlapped each other, but aside from a cringe at Voldemort’s name, Draco pretended not to hear anything Harry said, focusing on Pansy’s admonition this time around. 

“I thought that was Mother,” he told her begrudgingly, throwing his hands up. 

“Well it was, in a way,” Pansy smirked at Harry, who glowered back at her. 

“Pansy shut up!” 

It was Draco’s turn to chuckle at Pansy’s boldness, and Harry scowled at them both. 

“Oh lay off, Potter. All’s fair in love and war, after all.” Draco smirked, and Harry allowed himself to wonder, for just a moment, what would happen if he kissed the smirk off his face. 

_ I’ll show you fair in love and war… But that would not end well,  _ he decided, so he motioned to the stack of files. “These aren’t going to read themselves, and we need to get them back to the ministry sooner than later.” 

“On that note, I’ll leave you boys to it. Have fun!” She collected her purse and exited the room, but poked her head back in a second later. “But not  _ too much  _ fun.” A cheeky wink, a grin, and she was gone. 

“I am never letting her and my partner alone in a room together. I wouldn’t have any secrets left,” Harry said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Here.” He shoved a stack of files at Draco, and took a stack himself. “Now what are we looking for?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone care to hazard a guess what Harry said that will work Draco into quite the little tizzy? ;)


	11. Duos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Happy hump day!

_ Partner.  _ The seemingly innocuous word bounced around Draco’s head, threatening to drive him mad.  _ Why hasn’t Potter mentioned him before now? It isn’t as if he was being overly private, he talks quite a lot… But then it isn’t anything really that deep. It’s not as if I’ve given him anything to work with. But… Partner, not boyfriend makes it sound so… Official.  _

Draco flipped the folder shut. A curse that made the victim unable to speak in anything but Mermish was irritating, but ultimately benign, not to mention easy enough to reverse by any semi-competent curse-breaker. A glance up at Harry’s steadily growing stacks told him that he was having about as much luck as Draco was. Roughly two-thirds of the curses were not harmful. Of the remaining third, about half were non-lethal. Most of those were accompanied by notes. Of the lethal ones, Draco had yet to find one that had an accompanying note. The outcome would have spoken for itself. 

Harry dropped a file onto the “harmful but non-lethal” pile, and reached for the next. They’d been working fairly quickly, and Draco thought they might finish before Josephine --Wait what did Potter call her? Josie?-- came back. Skimming over it, he snorted, drawing Draco’s attention again. Harry flipped it shut, dropping it into the “non harmful” pile. 

“That one would turn your father’s hair blue. Pretty sure whoever sent that has a death wish themselves.” Draco couldn’t suppress the chuckle that bubbled up. Conversationally, Harry continued as he picked up the next file. “My partner and I have an amulet that turns your hair pink. We have this dumb contest to see who can get away with it for the longest, but I still think I win because Ron looks terrible with pink hair, and it took him most of the afternoon to notice.” 

He grinned, looking up and meeting Draco’s eyes. His grin faltered, and he dropped his brilliant green eyes back to the file in his hand.  _ Wait, no. Keep talking about him!  _

“Has Mother met your partner?” Draco hoped he came off nonchalant. 

“Yeah, a few times. They seemed to hit it off, actually.” Harry said distractedly. “Narcissa got a kick out of my nickname.” He pulled a face, flinging the file into the “non harmful” pile. 

“Your nickname?” Draco dropped his own file into the “harmful but not lethal” pile, moving on to the next, hoping Harry would keep talking. 

“Uh, yeah.” His cheeks grew pink, and Draco smirked. 

“Go on,” he drawled, flipping the next file open, but watching Harry shift uncomfortably. 

“Goldie.” Harry’s flush deepened, and Draco hummed. 

“You’re the Golden Boy, after all. Seems fitting.” he flipped the file shut again before adding it to the “non harmful” pile. 

“Actually it's a play on a muggle fairytale, though I think it started with polyjuice…” Harry looked up, and chuckled at Draco’s confused expression. “Goldilocks is this girl that wanders into the home of three bears, thinks that one bowl of porridge is too hot, one is too cold, and the last is just right. She goes on and comes to the same conclusion with the beds. One is too soft, one is too first, and the last is just right. 

“TJ claims I’m “just right,” he chuckled. “And thinks it’s unendingly funny that when you use my hair in polyjuice potion it turns gold. Ergo, Goldie.” 

Draco snorted.  _ How sentimental.  _ He paused.  _ And adorably endearing. Though of course it would be so blatantly Gryffindor to be gold.  _ He dropped the file into the “non harmful” pile and took the next. 

They sorted through a few more in silence, until Harry asked, “So how was France?” 

Draco almost scoffed at the question, but realized he needed to share some too, if he was going to wring any more about this TJ out of Potter. So he cleared his throat, trying to settle on an answer. 

“Paris is beautiful, but it’s… quite lonely.” He dropped the file into the “lethal” stack, and shrugged. “Before I was always there with my parents. Being there alone was a different experience entirely.” 

“So why didn’t you write Pansy back?” Harry had paused, and was watching Draco intently. 

“I didn’t know what to say to her, honestly. She’s one of my oldest friends, but she was here, moving on with her life. I didn’t want to hold her back.” Another file went with the “non harmful.” 

Draco was unnerved by Harry’s silence, so he went on. “Pansy and I have a long, complicated history.” He reached up, absentmindedly pushing his hair back from his face. “She deserves better than what I can give her.” Anger boiled up, and he threw the file a bit harder than necessary at the “non harmful” stack. 

“I don’t think she wants anything other than her friend. She misses you.” Harry was watching him again, his green eyes wary. “You made quite the duo… That doesn’t just go away.” 

“She’s obviously doing fine, she’s already collected you and Granger.” Harry didn’t miss the flash of sadness that he quickly covered. 

“To be fair, she just showed up at my kitchen table. I thought she’d be the last one Hermione would latch onto after the stunt she played before the battle, but here we are.” Harry dropped a file onto the “non harmful” pile, and took a moment to stretch. Draco averted his eyes as the muscles of Harry’s arms and shoulders rippled beneath the grey shirt he wore. Auror training had done him well. 

“I guess she and Hermione were assigned as partners on some joint case, and ended up screaming at each other over a conference room table. By the time they walked out, they’d decided they were best friends? I still don’t understand it, but I’ve been told I’m shite with girls.” He flashed a self-deprecating smile, and Draco almost smiled back, having been told the same thing by Pansy. The urge to smile fled when he thought of the slur curved into Hermione’s arm by his aunt Bella. 

“I’m fairly certain hell will warm over before she forgives my family for what happened at the manor,” Draco sighed, flipping through another file. 

“She doesn’t hold it against you.” Harry said quietly, cocking his head at Draco. “She refuses to step foot back there, but she understands that Narcissa was trying to protect you and herself. What Bellatrix did is unforgivable, but Bellatrix is dead.”

Draco set the file carefully into its appropriate pile, and met Harry’s eyes again. “I refuse to believe she’s not angry for what happened to her, with a myriad of other emotions playing into it as well. Honestly I don’t know if I believe that you aren’t angry on her behalf.” His frankness surprised Harry; he could tell by the way his left eyebrow cocked up ever so slightly. 

“We are angry. Hermione worked herself up until she was throwing things around my kitchen not a month ago. But it’s directed at Voldemort and Bellatrix. You didn’t pick up the damn knife, but you did give me your wand. Narcissa identified us, but she then lied and saved my arse.”

“We should have done more,” Draco said quietly, clenching his jaw around the admission. 

“None of us did the right thing every time,” Harry insisted, the piles laying momentarily forgotten. “Ron left us for months. Dumbledore used me as bait time and time again. Snape let himself be used by both sides because he loved my mum and let her die. I was literally carrying a piece of his fucking soul. None of us were perfect. We recognize that, but put more in store by the defining moments. Ron came back. Dumbledore saw the bigger picture. Snape saved our arses and did what he could to protect the students. I accepted that I had to die, even if I really didn’t want to.” 

Harry’s eyes sparkled with intensity Draco hadn’t seen from him before, and Draco was taken aback by the passion he’d inadvertently uncovered. 

“So, yes. We’re angry. We have a lot of shite to work through, but we understand that it’s not black and white. My godfather once told me that the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters... What I didn’t realize at the time was that he was still being unfair, because some Death Eaters weren’t all bad either.” 

Draco gaped at Harry, the monologue throwing him into a whirlwind of thought and emotion that he struggled to grasp. Harry himself swallowed hard, looking around at the piles and standing quickly. 

“I need some air,” he said quickly, crossing the room and ducking out the door before Draco could find his voice to stop him. 

***

Harry sat on the same bench he had the day Draco had returned from France. The wind whipping through the city streets carried with it the promise of another thunderstorm, but Harry needed to let his mind and body calm from the emotionally wrought tension of Narcissa’s hospital room. 

He wasn’t exactly sure where his conviction had come from, other than the fact that he’d had similar conversations with Narcissa in the past, though he’d had more control then. Draco seemed to bring out more fire than his mother incited. 

Harry was feeling almost back to normal when a blonde woman jogged up, and used the far side of the bench to stretch. Her toned legs and long blonde hair would catch a number of people’s eyes, but Harry was more interested in the tennis bracelet on her left wrist. Gold inlaid with garnets, it was a piece of jewelry he would know anywhere. 

“Alright there, Goldie?” 

Harry schooled his features into cordiality, in case anyone walked by. In truth, he couldn’t have been happier to see his partner. 

“Tia, you have insanely good timing, you know that?” 

“I do, actually.” The twinkling blue eyes were all hers, despite the spell that changed her features, and Harry felt a rush of appreciation towards her. 

“I assume you’re here because you want in?” 

“I’m sure as hell not here because I enjoy running,” she allowed a small smile, and Harry’s mind went into overdrive. 

“Can you get to my place, get my cloak, and be back before I hit the doors at Mungo’s?” Harry cast his eyes around, but didn’t see anyone. Hestia straightened, crossing an arm over to stretch her upper body 

“If you give me a head start. I can apparate from that alley.” Harry followed her gaze to a nearly hidden alley halfway down the block. 

“Okay. I’ll start walking back when you get to the alley. The cloak is in my room, second shelf on the left. Make sure you’re completely covered so I can get you through and into the room.” 

“Roger that. See you soon!” She shook out her arms and took off at an easy jog, showing no sign that she was doing anything other than finishing her run. 

Harry waited a handful of seconds after she disappeared to start walking the opposite way down the street, back towards St Mungo’s. He was fifty feet from the door when he felt Hestia fall into step beside him. Pulling the door open wide to give her space to slip in, he strode purposefully back to Narcissa’s room, repeating the routine. If Ron noticed, he didn’t react, and Harry waited for the door to close completely before throwing up a one-way silencing spell. 

Draco looked up from the file in his hand, confusion clouding his eyes. “What the hell is that for, Potter?” 

“Can’t let them know it’s more than just us in here,” Harry said with a grin. “Come on out!” 

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry. “What do you mean more than—“ 

A ripple in the air to Harry’s left drew his attention, and he jumped when a blonde in a tank top, short shorts, and running shoes appeared, holding a silvery cloak. 

Draco jumped, drawing his wand reflexively. 

Harry quickly stepped in front of Draco’s wand, holding his hands up complacently. 

“Whoa. Sorry I forgot you didn’t know about the cloak. This is my partner, Hestia Jones.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. 

Draco blinked at him blankly, and the woman giggled. “I think you broke him, Goldie.” 

“Shut up, TJ. You nearly peed when you found out I had it, and you had warning.” 

The pieces slowly fell into place for Draco, and he lowered his wand.  _ Invisibility cloak? And his partner is a  _ woman?  _ What in the name of Merlin’s beard… _

“Tia, get rid of the disguise. You look bloody weird as a blonde.” Harry moved a stack of files out of the way, making room for her next to where he’d been working. She laughed, and moment later, her hair was back to its inky color, and her features were restored to their normal state. 

Draco blinked at her again. She was older than he and Harry by a few years, maybe mid-twenties. The long, toned legs were evidently all hers, and so were the sparkling, deep blue eyes. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re taller, up close.” She cocked her head, a smirk firmly in place. 

“TJ, don’t be creepy. Sit down, the healer will be in by eight and we’ll need you to hide the files.” She huffed, but took the chair Harry had transfigured and listened closely as Harry explained their “filing system.” 

Draco was still eying her with an air of distrust, and Harry rolled his eyes. “She was one of the aurors that was assigned to Hogwarts our sixth year.”

“And you’re not exactly known for blending in,” she added with a smirk. 

More pieces settled into place.  _ His auror partner, not his bloody romantic partner. All of a sudden this makes so much more sense… _

“Uh, nice to meet you,” he finally mumbled, turning back to his own stack of files. For the third time that afternoon, his perception of Harry was changing, and Draco was struggling to reconcile what he knew of the man and what he was feeling. A flicker of hope had been ignited in his chest, and he was doing his best to stamp it out, though he acknowledged to himself he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. 

He focused just in time to hear the woman-- Hestia? Tia? TJ?-- complain to Harry about having to tell the prosecuting barristers that he was off duty until further notice. 

“I’m pretty sure Connors is just upset that he’s going to have to call me to testify instead of you, and we all know how much he enjoys that. Also Tadrey from accidental keeps asking after you. Pretty sure he’s gearing up to ask you out again, I told him I thought you met someone but apparently if it’s not in  _ Witch Weekly  _ it doesn’t count, even though I  _ told  _ him I’m your bloody partner, I would know. So be prepared for—“ 

Draco couldn’t hold back the amused chuckle any longer. The witch stopped, looking at him inquisitively. 

“I see what you mean about not wanting them in the same room together,” Draco told Harry, who rolled his eyes, nodding. 

“Be in the same room with who?” She narrowed her eyes at Harry, who promptly launched into an in-depth analysis of the Wimbourne Wasps’s win over the Chudley Cannons the previous Wednesday, with Draco chiming in every so often, bringing up the Falmouth Falcons’ record against the Appleby Arrows. Hestia was adamant that the Holyhead Harpies were going to come out victorious over Pride of Portree, but Draco pointed out their spectacular loss to the Ballycastle Bats and Kenmare Kestrals, leading to her stance shifting. 

By the time they’d finished with the rest of the files, Draco was actually enjoying himself, as long as he didn’t stop to consider who the curses he read about were aimed at. It was nice to have a normal conversation that didn’t revolve around the war or curses. The friendly jibes were a far cry from the venom-filled exchanges from school. Draco found he much preferred the green eyes across from him sparkling with humor than cutting with hatred. 

He looked up at a pause in the conversation to find Harry involved in his own silent conversation with his partner, using only pointed facial expressions and tilts of their heads. Harry was shaking his head and looking warningly at Hestia, who had a sly grin and was tipping her head and waggling her eyebrows suggestively. 

“If you two are finished, we should probably clean up. Josie will be here in fifteen minutes.” Harry had the decency to look embarrassed, but Hestia grinned broadly. “Just trying to help you out!” 

She narrowly missed a stinging hex aimed at her by a very red faced Harry, and Draco was left wondering what the hell had transpired between the duo.


	12. Worse Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry invites Draco over to Grimmauld Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My posting schedule is ALL over the place (working in healthcare during a worldwide pandemic is a bitch) but I'm doing my best to keep up as best I can. Thank you to everyone who is still here for the ride!

“What the hell was I thinking,” Harry hissed towards the space of empty air to his left. 

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Hestia sounded entirely too delighted, and Harry clenched his jaw. 

“Why did you let me invite him over?” Harry was on the verge of panicking, just a little bit. This may have been a worse idea than trying to seduce him. 

They’d been stacking the files, keeping them separated by intent and condensing them down as well as casting feather-light charms over them so Hestia could carry them out under the cloak, and it had just tumbled out. 

“You can come back to my place, if you’d like. We can keep going on these.” 

And against all odds, Draco had looked surprised, but nodded anyway. “Alright, then.” 

“Floo home first, in case whoever’s out there is actually paying attention, but then you can head to mine. Tia and I will go out the front, she can meet you at mine, she’s keyed into the wards and Kreacher usually listens to her. I’ll find some errand to run and meet you both there.” 

Draco and Hestia nodded, and Hestia got the cloak to fall around her, the files in her arms just as Harry dropped the silencing charm and Josie came in. 

Now they were safely outside, and Hestia was about to head to Grimmauld place while Harry found an excuse to not floo directly home. He settled on dropping by The Leaky Cauldron to pick up a couple bottles of Ogden’s to replace what he and Tia had polished off the previous Friday, and floo’d home from there to avoid any “Harry Potter Turns to Alcohol to Cope'' articles in  _ Witch Weekly.  _ By the time he was done, he was slightly calmer, but still questioning his recent choices. 

He stepped through the floo to find the stack of files and the cloak abandoned on the sofa, Hestia and Draco nowhere to be seen. Harry put the firewhiskey away and ventured into the hallway, hoping that Hermione and Ron were still planning on dinner with George and Angelina. He didn’t hear any crashing, yelling, or Mrs Black screaming, so he made his way cautiously into the kitchen, where he found Hestia and Draco laughing at the table, already eating the delicious-smelling roast Kreature put out. 

“Don’t tell me it was a bad idea to leave you two alone,” Harry grumbled, sinking into the seat next to Hestia, summoning a third place setting and digging in. 

“Oh no, it was brilliant.” Hestia smiled brightly, and Draco smirked. Harry paused with his fork halfway to his plate, his eyes narrowing. 

“I don’t trust either of you with looks like that,” he said flatly, turning the brunt of his glare to Hestia. 

“Now Goldie, would I ever betray you?” She smiled sweetly, and Harry scowled at her. “Oh you love me. But calm down. Draco here was just telling me about his flair for the dramatic. Just how many of these “Potter Stinks” badges did you charm?” 

Draco’s cheeks flushed pink, and he scowled. “I didn’t say anything about that.” 

“Oh no… I suppose you didn’t. But I’d be amiss not to not take the opportunity to find out. Filius Flitwick spent at least an hour telling one night telling me and Tonks how impressed he was.” She grinned again, and Draco kept his mouth resolutely shut, though his cheeks went several shades pinker.

“Oh how about the song? That was you too!” Harry chuckled as Draco’s pink cheeks brightened further. 

“Oh! This I  _ have  _ to hear!” Hestia leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand to listen. 

“Okay that backfired,” Draco muttered, and Harry laughed. 

“Just a bit.” Turning to Hestia he grinned. “He was so sure Ron was going to bollocks up our chances at the cup he wrote ‘Weasley is our King,” and then Ron practically carried us to the cup. It was brilliant, we should have sent you a thank you card.” Harry didn’t miss the smile Draco tried to cover with a shake of his head.

***

The banter over dinner was just as easy as it had been over the files, and Draco seemed to relax further, without his mother’s still and silent body acting as the erumpet in the room. 

“Okay Potter switches back and forth between Tia and TJ. Which do you actually prefer?” 

They’d moved upstairs into the sitting room, and he was currently sprawled lazily in an armchair, a stack of files in his lap, teetering precariously as he waved the one in his hand at the partners across from him. Harry was on one end of the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table, while Hestia lay across the other two cushions, her legs draped haphazardly over the back and arm. 

She looked up from the file she was currently examining, tilting her head at an awkward angle to eye Draco thoughtfully. “He does, doesn’t he?” She reached up without looking, and smacked Harry across the bicep. “Bad Goldie.” 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, looking reproachfully down at Hestia. “I’m not a dog.”

“Oh right, that was Sirius. I forgot,” she joked, ignoring his sharper glare. It was a bit of a touchy subject, not that she would shy away. Harry could feel Draco’s eyes on him as he rubbed his arm. “TJ, please.” Hestia went on. “The only ones that still call me Tia are my family, Kingsley, and apparently my junior partner.” 

“Shacklebolt?” Draco looked surprised. 

“They were—” Harry was cut off by another sharp smack to his bicep. “Ow! Stop it! I was just going to say he was your partner before Tonks. Calm down, Killer.” 

“Something tells me there’s more to this,” Draco said dryly, tossing his file into the “review again later” pile. Thankfully, this pile was the smaller of the two. Harry snorted, and quickly regretted it when Hestia smacked him again. 

“For fuck’s sake TJ knock it off! That was your own damn fault!” 

“You should be ashamed, talking to a lady like that,” Hermione’s voice came from down the hall, and Harry steeled himself for what was coming. 

“I would, if she was a lady,” Harry grumbled, hoping it didn’t sound as strangled as it felt as he kicked himself for not warning Draco or Hermione that they’d likely bump into each other. Draco had frozen in his chair, a page only half-turned. 

“That’s just ru--,” Hermione said, her voice no longer muffled as she stepped into the room and froze. A grunt and several even more imaginative swears that would have earned him a smack from Mrs Weasley announced Ron’s arrival right behind her. 

“‘Mione what the hell--” He stopped, peering over Hermione’s head and falling silent. 

“Granger. Weasley.” Draco’s voice was tight, though he retained his casual posture. Harry was impressed that he didn’t bolt, but then he was out of reach out of Hermione’s fist this time.

“Hey Hermione, do you have more of those cookies you made last week?” Hestia sat up, peeking over the back of the sofa. Harry didn’t miss the warning look she gave the two still in the doorway, though he was positive Draco couldn’t see it from where he sat behind her. 

“Huh? Oh… Um…” Hermione tore her eyes from Draco to meet Hestia’s. “I think Ron finished them off, didn’t you, Ron?” Her voice was dangerously high, and Hestia flung herself from the sofa, springing to her feet and approaching the door.

“Are they difficult to make? I’ve been dying for more and Harry couldn’t even tell me what was in them.” 

Harry knew a diversion when he saw it, and he was unendingly grateful to his partner when Hermione squeaked out, “No, not at all! We can whip some up in no time!” Hestia and Hermione each took one of Ron’s arms, pulling him out of the room and down the hall. 

“Sorry about that,” Harry groaned, turning back to face Draco. Instead of the snappy comeback Harry expected, Draco was staring at the door, his face pale. Harry narrowed his eyes, waiting for “You good?” 

Draco blinked slowly, turning back to the file in his hand, face impassive. “Fine. I think it's time for me to get going though. You can go down and tell the Dynamic Duo it's safe.” He set the file aside, and stood quickly. “Thanks for dinner, tell TJ I’ll see her around.” He was at the fireplace, reaching for the floo powder before Harry could get to his feet.

“You don’t have to--” Harry was cut off when Draco whipped around, and met his eyes. His walls had crumbled again, leaving him exposed and vulnerable, his regret and shame on full display. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” A shield slid into place behind silver eyes, and Harry clamped down on his objection. Instead, he nodded, and watched Draco disappear in a whoosh of green. This had definitely been a worse idea than trying to seduce him.

He threw down the forgotten file still in his hand, and proceeded down the stairs toward the voices in the kitchen. He stopped outside the door, listening to the low voices inside. He waited to see if they were talking about it, and he was immediately rewarded. 

“What was he thinking, bringing the ferret here?” Ron was asking, and Harry pressed his ear closer to the door.

“I like him,” Hestia cut in. “He’s funny, once he relaxes a bit… Even if he is a Falmouth fan.” Harry shook his head, but her frank admission left him feeling a bit better. At least someone in the room had his back.

“But he was a Dea--”

“Was, Ron. If you spent ten minutes with him without attacking him, you’d know he’s not what you assume him to be.” Hestia’s voice was challenging him to disagree. “You were fine with Narcissa, why is Draco so much worse?” 

“Narcissa didn’t have the Mark--”

  
“So what? Her husband was Voldemort’s right-hand in the first war. He lived in her house. Her husband, son, sister, and brother-in-law all had it.” Harry bristled at Ron’s attempted justifications, and grateful for the hundredth time that day to Hestia and her quick thinking.

“Harry trusted--”

“Trusts her. It’s not past tense, Ron,” Hermione said quietly, and Harry felt a surge of affection for her. 

“But why aren’t you more upset about this?” Ron’s voice was accusatory, and Harry waited with bated breath for her answer. 

“I figured it would happen sooner or later, with them spending so much time together. I think Harry genuinely likes him.”  _ I do,  _ Harry thought vehemently, and then stopped himself from delving any deeper into that particular thought. 

“Are we sure Harry hasn’t been Imperioused?” Disgust now laced Ron’s words, and Harry resisted the urge to storm in, hexes flying.

“Harry’s been able to throw off the Imperious curse since you lot were fourteen. And after spending several hours with them both, I’m the resident expert on the Harry-Draco dynamic and can confidently say that whatever history they may have is on the back burner. Narcissa is more important than whatever may have transpired while you were in school, and right now they’re both feeling pretty damn lonely. Harry’s been suspended and we know he blames himself. And Draco’s simmering in guilt over the war and now his mum. 

“Right now I think they’re holding on to each other, even if neither will admit it, if just because they don’t have anyone else. I swear to Godric himself, if you make it even harder for Harry, I’ll hex you myself.” 

Harry was pretty sure his partner’s threat was aimed towards Ron, and after listening to her dissection of his tenuous cease-fire with Draco, he was now perfectly certain today had been worse than anticipated. He waited a while longer, while Hermione tried to salvage the room by asking Hestia how things were going with Pence. 

When he was sure his face wouldn’t betray his warring emotions, he opened the door, and stepped into the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, leaning against the door jam to watch his friends. Hestia was perched on the counter, stealing bits of dough out of the bowl Hermione was stirring. Ron was sitting with his back to the door, his fingers laced behind his head as he balanced precariously on the back two legs of the chair. 

Hestia was the first to notice him, and he answered her silent question if Draco was still there with a shake of his head. She frowned, but to her endless credit, didn’t draw attention to him. Hermione was the next, dropping the spoon she was using to form the balls of cookie dough. 

“Harry! Is Mal-  _ Draco  _ still here?” 

There was a loud  _ thunk  _ as the front legs of Ron’s chair hit the floor and he twisted to look at Harry in the door. 

“No, he said he needed to get home. Draco said he’d see you, Tia. Can you get the files we’re done with back to the ministry tomorrow?” Harry waited for Hestia to nod, and continued. “Thanks for everything, Tia. I’m going to bed. Night.” 

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, looking worried, while Ron’s ears turned red. Hestia’s grim expression told him he’d be getting the third degree later, but he turned away, and took the stairs two at a time to his room. 

Passing the length of wall where the house-elf heads had been mounted, he took note of the unevenly faded wallpaper, and decided that he was going to get rid of it, and finally paint it the slivery blue Narcissa had suggested. All of his ideas may have ended up being shite, but Narcissa’s hadn’t failed him yet. 


	13. Acting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of you lovely people are staying safe by staying home, and this gives you a bit of an escape from real life. I'm one of those people that doesn't get to stay home as I am clinical medical staff, which also means I haven't had much time to write, and even less to edit, so I apologise for any mistakes! I'm only human, and a very, very, very tired human at that. 
> 
> So without further ado...

Draco was waiting for Harry the next morning, taking a stack of files and digging in with little more to say than “Good morning” and “thank you.” Harry attempted conversation, but it quickly became clear that Draco wasn’t in the mood to talk, nor was he going to rise to the bait. 

When Millie came in, Draco gave Narcissa his customary kiss and left quickly, leaving Harry looking after him in surprise. 

“What did you do to him?” Millie was likewise staring at the door that Draco had disappeared through. 

Harry shook his head, blinking rapidly. “I have no idea.”

“He’ll get over it. He does this sometimes. It usually blows over in a day or two.” When Harry shot her an inquisitive look, she shrugged in return. “You share a common room for seven years and you pick things up. Whatever he’s upset about, he’ll either work it out or get over it, though I will say you’re the only one that ever really could work him up like this.” 

“Me?” Harry was taken aback by her revelation. 

“He’s been trying to get your attention for years. He really only acted like such a twat when you were involved. We’ve been betting since fourth year that you’d either kill each other or end up in bed together. Personally I’ve always been on the fence. It could go either way.” 

Harry blinked owlishly up at her from his seat, trying to work through what she was telling him. “So what do I do?” 

Millie arched an eyebrow, exasperation clear on her features. “It might do you both some good to get some space. I read the reports. You two have been cooped up in this room, worried half to death for her and walking on eggshells around each other. You had to know this was coming. Even Perfect Potter isn’t that daft.” 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully as Millie cast her spells and noted the clipboard she carried. He came to his conclusion quickly. “Millie?” 

“Hmm?” She didn’t look up from the clipboard in her hand. 

“I think I’ll stay away tomorrow, but… I want to see Narcissa.” He looked up at her again, pleading with her to understand. 

“Be here before eight, and I’ll let you in for a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Millie.” 

She gave a non committal hum, and made a “shoo”ing gesture with a flick of her wrist. He obeyed her immediately, and hurried through the floo, not looking back to see Millie follow him out of the room with a smirk on her face. 

The next morning he was up and through the floo, slipping in to see Narcissa briefly before returning to Grimmauld place. Ginny’s quidditch match was slated for that evening, but he planned on using the day to strip the wallpaper and paint the hall. He planned on using a mix of muggle and magical techniques to finish the job, and he left Mungo’s straight to the muggle hardware store. From there he returned to Grimmauld place, changing quickly and setting to work. 

Stripping the wallpaper was physically taxing, even with magic helping him along. The aging wallpaper had been applied with paste, but bits of it had been repaired with sticking charms. By noon he was halfway done with the section he’d planned on completing, and the rest of the hallway seemed to be calling to be finished. After a quick lunch, he dove back in. The work was mindless, but it was an outlet for the nervous energy that had been building for weeks, and he was relieved to see progress being made when he felt so powerless in the face of Narcissa’s curse. 

All of Harry’s anger and frustration was funnelled into stripping the old walls that had seen so much hate and sadness, the walls that Sirius had hated and the walls that still showed the marks of the Black’s cruelty. 

He stopped again for the game at four, and despite the rousing win over the Wigtown Wanderers, he begged off the celebratory dinner at the Burrow, electing to return to his project. Stepping back through the floo with a sigh, he sank down on the sofa, burying his face in his hands. The floo roared to life, and he stayed put, expecting Ron or Hermione had forgotten something. He jumped when someone he hadn’t expected spoke. 

“Please tell me you don’t look so morose because the bloody Wanderers won.” Draco arched an eyebrow from where he stood before the fireplace. 

Harry blinked at him blankly, trying to reconcile what he was seeing. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to make sure you hadn’t drunk yourself into oblivion, or done something equally stupid to keep you away.” 

“One hangover,  _ on a weekend _ , and now you feel the need to check up on me?” Harry glared at the smirking man across from him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

“I said drinking or something equally stupid.” Draco crossed his arms and cocked his head, the fire reflecting off his pale hair. 

“Do home improvement projects fall under that category? Because if so, you have your answer.” Harry swallowed hard, dropping his gaze to the floor before him and rubbing his neck. 

“Home improvement project?” Draco sounded confused, and Harry jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the hallway. 

“Stripping the wallpaper, painting. Narcissa’s been telling me to do it for months… I thought it was time. I stopped to go to Gin’s game, I promised her I’d go ages ago. Before…” He trailed off, his throat getting tight. He shook his head. “Anyway. If she wakes up and it’s not done, I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

“When.” 

“What?” Harry looked up, confusion clouding his vision. Draco had his jaw clenched and his eyes tightly closed. 

“ _ When  _ she wakes up. Not if.”

“Right.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck again, not sure what else to say. 

“Oh for Salazar’s sake, where do you keep the firewhiskey?” Draco moved towards the sidebar before Harry could answer, and Harry watched in amusement as he pulled out a fresh bottle, looking over the label appreciatively. “At least you have decent taste in liquor,” he drawled, pouring two glasses. 

Harry took the proffered glass, and locked his eyes on the amber liquid swirling in the glass as Draco took the same armchair he had the night before, his arrogant sprawl highlighting his long limbs. Draco took a drink, face contorting against the burn. 

Harry threw his back, setting his glass on the coffee table with a soft  _ clink. _ He stood and retreated into the hallway, leaving Draco to the firewhiskey. 

***

Draco watched him go, wondering where he was going and if he was planning on coming back. He’d spent the day pacing his mother’s small hospital room, his thoughts continuously wandering to Harry.  _ Where is he? Why didn’t he tell me he wasn’t coming? Pansy was right. I act like such a dick. I fucked it up, and there wasn’t even an  _ it  _ to fuck up. Salazar, please don’t let him be in trouble for bringing those files. Or cursed. Was he getting threats too? There are still Followers out there…  _

By nine he’d been worried. By noon he was just short of panicked. By six, he couldn’t get through the floo fast enough, not even caring that he was being rude by not calling or owling first. Stepping out to find Harry alive and seemingly well on his sofa nearly drove him to his knees in relief. 

The deep green Holyhead Harpies t-shirt nearly did him in when Harry looked up, his eyes looking tired but alert and greener than ever.  _ Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t dressed in Slytherin green at school…  _

Harry looked surprised to see him, and the flash of irritation at Draco’s insinuation had been enough to make Draco think he really wasn’t wanted, but Harry hadn’t objected to Draco making himself at home, either. So Draco waited, the glass of firewhiskey still barely touched in his hand. Harry reappeared ten minutes later, his Holyhead Harpies shirt and clean, dark wash jeans exchanged for a faded black t-shirt with a band’s logo splashed across the front and faded blue jeans smeared with what looked like the same paint that now graced the walls of the room. He didn’t look surprised Draco was still there, and just leaned in through the open door, nodding towards the floo. 

“Ron and Hermione will be back in a couple hours, and Ron may not be totally sober, fair warning.” Draco arched an eyebrow. Did Harry mean for him to stay that long? 

Harry shrugged, and turned around, leaving Draco once more. The house was quiet, until the sounds of scraping and tearing paper floated in. Draco stood, and warily made his way to the door. Harry was standing with his back to Draco, working at pulling a piece of splotchy wallpaper from a spot on the landing. Draco watched as Harry tore it free, and slid his wand from his back pocket to reverse the sticking charm holding the corner down. 

Draco watched in silence for several minutes as Harry worked methodically, until his curiosity won out. 

“Why aren’t you just using magic for all of it?” Draco would have missed the subtle tension in Harry’s shoulders before they’d spent so many hours together, but now he saw it. Harry didn’t answer for several long moments, just continued working a particularly stubborn strip away from the plaster. With a vicious jerk, it came free, and he let it flutter to the ground, turning back to Draco as he used his forearm to push his sweaty hair from his face, exposing the lightning bolt scar. 

“It’s more satisfying to do it this way,” he finally said, as if daring Draco to disagree. Instead, Draco was just confused.  _ Why?  _ Harry seemed to be amused by Draco’s confusion, because he crossed his arms, and leaned back against the wall, a half-smile on his lips.

“Are you really going to stand there and tell me ripping something apart doesn’t sound  _ really  _ good right now? Take your anger at your father and whoever did this to Narcissa, hell, your anger at me and whatever the hell I did to piss you off this time and instead of letting it eat at you, use it to tear something apart and make something new out of it?” 

Draco was still holding the tumbler of firewhiskey, and he threw it back, using the moment to consider Harry’s words. He was angry; certainly at his father, the Dark Lord, the person that did this to his mother, and maybe he was a bit angry at Harry. The “why” was something he didn’t particularly care to examine too closely, but the “why” didn’t matter at the moment. The startlingly green eyes that were currently stripping him as bare as the wall behind him did, however. 

“Alright. You got me. What do I do?” Draco surprised himself by setting the glass down and stepping forward into the hall. Harry looked him over, but once again didn’t object. 

“Do you want to change? It’s dirty work.” Draco didn’t even bother considering. Clothes were immaterial. They didn’t matter, and it wasn’t as if he had anything like Harry wore now. A sharp jerk of his head, and Harry was shrugging. “Suit yourself.” He then gave Draco a crash course in stripping the wallpaper. Soon Harry had left him to the wall that he’d been working on, turning his attention to the wall behind him. 

Harry had been right, and it was immensely satisfying to see the bare wall revealed, bit by pain-staking bit. Draco’s arms burned, and the ache in his chest that hadn’t budged since he’d gotten his father’s letter the night his mother had been attacked seemed to loosen its grip ever so slightly. They worked in silence, lost in their respective thoughts, the sound of tearing paper and muttered curses at the stubborn bits the only reminder they weren’t alone. 

Harry finished his stretch of wall first, disappeared, and returned from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches, two glasses, and a carafe of what looked like pumpkin juice. Draco nodded his thanks, but kept going. Harry took one off the top and sank down with his back against the wall. 

Chewing slowly, Harry watched Draco free a long strip, throw it aside and attack the next section. He still wasn’t sure what had brought Draco through the floo, and he was amazed that he’d jumped in beside him to help, but he wasn’t complaining. Harry used his forearm to push his hair from his face again and deciding it was a losing battle, flicked his wand at the windows. They sprung open, a cool breeze ruffling the drapes. Draco sighed in relief when the cool air reached them, and Harry noticed that despite the shirt clinging to his back, he hadn’t even rolled up his sleeves. 

With the cool air Draco slowed his pace, and when he let the last piece fall from his fingers, it looked like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He turned to survey the work he’d completed, a pleased expression lighting his face. Harry quickly averted his eyes when Draco sank down across from him, passing the plate of sandwiches. Draco spelled his hands clean before taking one, and leaned against the wall. 

“It’s too static.” 

“What?” Harry automatically ran a hand through his hair, self conscious of its tendency to stick out at all angles. 

“Mother’s condition. It isn’t changing, for better or for worse.” Draco took a bite, staring blindly at a spot of bare wall. Harry’s mind started to spin, realizing what Draco meant. 

“You think she’s still being cursed?” Harry pinned the other man with a hard stare, running through possible suspects and scenarios in his head. 

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Otherwise she’d be healing or dying.” Draco was still staring at the blank stretch of wall, and Harry sat forward. He was right. Harry had seen weak curses that the victim’s magic would fight off over time, and stronger ones that would overwhelm the victim, but never one that was so steady, not without renewing the curse. 

“But the only ones that have had access are you, me, the healers, and the aurors. Pansy has been twice, but I was with her the entire time.” Harry was still running through scenarios, but each was getting more and more unlikely. 

“It wasn’t Pansy any more than it was you or me. I’d bet my wand on it.” Draco took another bite, and Harry nodded absentmindedly. He didn’t think it was Pansy or Draco, and he definitely didn’t do it. 

They sat in silence, each of them turning the puzzle over and over in their heads, looking for anything that they missed. The silence was interrupted by a low rumble of thunder, and Draco shook himself from his thoughts. 

“So what’s next?” 

“Huh?” Harry looked up in confusion, still mulling over theories. Draco gestured to the wall, as if they’d never strayed from the project. 

“Oh. Uh, I was going to paint it.” Harry glanced at his watch. It was only eight. Usually he’d just be leaving Narcissa’s room at St Mungo’s. 

“Well then what are we waiting for?” Draco’s impatience surprised Harry yet again, but he got to his feet, banishing the dishes back to the kitchen and summoning the painting supplies he’d bought that morning. 

“Have you ever painted a wall?” Harry wasn’t surprised at the look Draco gave him, but couldn’t hold back the chuckle at his indignation. 

“Of course I’ve bloody well never painted a wall. I’m a Malfoy not a—“ Draco stopped himself, glaring at Harry’s silently shaking shoulders. “Oh bugger off,” he mumbled, but then seemed to realize what he’d said and spots of pink appeared high on his cheekbones. 

“You’re so bloody lucky Tia and Pansy aren’t here,” Harry snickered, but handed Draco an edging brush. “Okay. So we’ll go around the edges first, and then fill in the middle with rollers. Top or bottom?” He caught the double entendre a second too late, his eyes widening with Draco’s smirk. “I mean— Fucking hell you know what I meant. Do you want the ceiling or floor?” Harry could feel the blood rushing to his face, and the open window suddenly wasn’t enough air. 

“It’ll take more than some paint to get me on my knees for you, Potter. I’ll take the ceiling.” Draco’s heart was pounding even as he said it, so he turned away as if to survey his workspace. 

Harry likewise turned away, a vision of Draco on his knees redirecting the rush of blood.  _ Bloody hell now is not the time,  _ he told himself, busying himself with pouring some paint into a tin. Another rumble of thunder had him glancing up to check on Draco, but he seemed unconcerned as he tested his reach. Harry had a step stool downstairs, knowing he couldn’t reach it himself, but the few inches Draco had on Harry was enough, and he reached the seam of the wall and crown mouldings easily. 

Harry turned his attention back to the paint before Draco could catch him eyeing the long lines he created against the drab backdrop, and swirled his brush in the paint experimentally. Wiping off the excess, he started to the far side of the doorframe, Draco’s comment keeping him from dropping to his knees too quickly. He saw the smirk as Draco likewise dipped his brush, but didn’t comment. 

Another roll of thunder brought Harry’s head up, but Draco still seemed unaffected.  _ He’s fine. Calm the fuck down.  _ Harry continued working around the door, leaving the top several inches for Draco’s easier reach. The next clap of thunder was the loudest yet, and Draco seemed to be waiting for Harry’s gaze to shift towards him again. 

“It’s the lightning, not the thunder. As long as I can’t see it, it’s fine.” Harry felt a blush creep up his neck. 

“I didn’t—“

“You didn’t have to, Potter.” Draco’s voice was tight, and Harry could practically feel the tension radiating from him. It would seem his anger at Harry was back, though Harry couldn’t quite puzzle out  _ why  _ he was so angry, so he let him be, until the next time Draco drew closer to refill his paintbrush. 

Draco didn’t cover the hostility in his eyes quickly enough when Harry looked up, and Harry’s patience snapped. 

“If you’re so sick of me, why are you even here? You can go!” Harry jabbed his paintbrush in the direction of the floo, and Draco’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Oh come on. Monday we were almost friendly, then yesterday you wouldn’t even say two words to me, and then today you waltz in here acting like you have to check on me. What is it that you want, Draco?” Harry glared at him, and Draco returned it, waving his own brush. 

“I lost the last year, the last four, really, with my mother. I come back to find her cursed, and you at her bloody bedside, having meetings with my father. And suddenly my best friend is helping you and you’re aren’t acting how you should!” 

It was Harry’s turn to look confused. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to be acting?” 

Draco threw his hands up in exasperation. “Like you saved the bloody world! Like my family was on the wrong side of the war and I actively tried to kill you. And instead you’re being so bloody nice! And you’re painting a damn wall for Mother!”  _ You’re supposed to be making me hate you, not fantasize about you, you moron. But no. And here I am, acting like I fucking hate you when all I want to do is pin you to the damn wall that we’re supposed to be painting for Mother.  _

Harry took a step closer, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I didn’t choose to have my parents murdered. I didn’t choose to save the bloody world. And yeah, I could hate you. Or I could pity you if that’s what you really want, but I don’t because that’s not what I would want in your bloody position. You might actually get your mother back, and I’m doing what I can to give her a chance. I’m being nice because it’s what she wanted!” Harry was breathing hard, but the dam had broken. 

“You didn’t lose her at all, you git! Every single time I’ve seen her she’s told me how excited she is to hear from you and how she couldn’t wait for you to come home. She hoped we could tolerate each other, if not be friends, so that’s what I’m trying to do, despite your best efforts to make it bloody well impossible. You have worse mood swings than any woman I’ve ever known!”

Draco scoffed, stepping forward, so their chests were nearly touching. “Is that really why you’re there every day? You’re doing it for  _ her? _ ” The sneer on his face tipped Harry off the last precipice.

“I’m on fucking assignment you idiot!” It slipped out before he could stop it, and Harry’s eyes got wide, and his mouth opened in horror. 

“You’ve been fucking spying on me?” Draco’s eyes turned to shards of ice, and he pressed forward, their chests now flush. Harry shoved him back against the wall, reaching around with his free hand to disarm the taller man, the paintbrush in his dominant fist pressing against Draco’s jugular, leaving a grey slash across his alabaster skin. 

“Not on you,” Harry ground out, and a flash of lightning illuminated the hallway. Draco’s eyes widened, and the hand around Harry’s wrist was no longer pushing him away. Grey met green, and Harry saw the flash of understanding. “That doesn’t leave this room,” Harry breathed. “Even Ron and Hermione don’t know. This can’t change  _ anything _ . If anyone finds out you know, all the work I’ve done, that  _ we  _ have done, is for nothing. Do you understand?” 

“I can keep a secret,” Draco finally acquiesced, and Harry eased back, lowering his paintbrush as if it was a wand. “But I’m doing it for Mother, not for you.” Harry offered up the hawthorn wand that he’d once used to defeat the darkest wizard of the age on a flat palm. His heart pounded in his ears at how close he’d come to kissing Draco.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  _

“Well then that makes two of us.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy oh boy! Things are heating up! Thanks as always for reading, kudos'ing, and commenting. 
> 
> XOXO,
> 
> Ruby


	14. Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience my lovelies! My outline has gotten away from me once again, so we aren’t as near to the end as I thought...   
> sorrynotsorry but Draco and Harry are a little slow on the uptake here. 
> 
> Read on and I hope you’re having fun on the ride!

Draco’s head was spinning. Harry had been so close he’d felt his chest heave and his breath ghost over his skin. He’d felt his pulse thundering under his fingertips, and released his wrist to take his wand back, hands shaking. 

Several minutes had passed, and Draco was back at the wall, dragging the paint brush carefully along the seam of the wall where it met the crown mouldings. His hands were now steady, even given that Harry had just given him a hell of a shock. Questions danced at the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t know that he wanted to know the answers. 

A flash of lightning lit the room, and Draco couldn’t suppress the shudder that wracked his body. He could feel Harry’s eyes on his neck, but he didn’t turn when he started to speak. 

“It reminds me of having  _ him _ in our house. If you were lucky, a flash like that would be followed by a scream, or a cry… If not…” Draco swallowed hard.

“You don’t have to explain. I get it,” Harry said tightly. “I just always thought the flashes were from the car crash.” Draco turned to see a deep anger seeping through his expression. 

“Car—“

“My aunt and uncle told me that’s how my parents died. How I got the scar.” He barked a humorless laugh. “They hated magic. I didn’t know about any of it until Hagrid showed up with my letter.” Draco watched him sink into a crouch, carefully painting around the trim. “Looking back, it’s obvious, but as a kid you don’t suspect anything like that could really…” he trailed off, falling silent.

Draco shook his head, the thoughts spinning around even faster now.  _ How did he say all of this like it was no big deal? And yet again, why is he telling me?  _ Draco’s thoughts were interrupted when Harry threw him off balance once again. 

“What’s your favorite colour?” 

“What?” Draco dropped his hand from where he’d been painting over his head, facing the other man. 

“What’s your favorite colour?” Harry repeated, glancing up from his own painting. “It’s a fairly simple question.” 

“But why do you care?” Draco honestly couldn’t fathom why  _ Harry Potter, the Chosen One,  _ was asking him such a mundane question. 

“Because it’s bloody awful talking about myself and you don’t offer anything without a straight question. So what is it? I would have guessed green, but all you wear is blue so--” 

Draco was now staring dumbfounded at Harry as he talked, still dragging the paint brush carefully along the wall. 

“I like both,” Draco interrupted him. “But I wear blue because I was told it makes my eyes look more like Mother’s than Father’s.” Draco was surprised with himself that he let that bit slip, but he couldn’t be angry with himself when Harry’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. 

“Where’s your loo?” Harry jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating down the hallway. 

“Third down on the left.” Draco dropped the paint brush into the tin and made a retreat, feeling as if his face was on fire. Quickly locating the correct door, he shut the door and collapsed back against it, wondering how he’d managed to get himself in this position to begin with.

***

Harry waited for the door to click shut before letting out a long sigh.  _ What happened to angry, not randy? We decided this was Not An Option! This isn’t randy, this is being nice. WE ARE FLIRTING. Then we’re shit at flirting.  _

Harry was pulled from his internal argument with himself as Hestia stepped through the floo. He heaved a sigh of relief as she shook the ash from her cloak, looking irritated. 

“You take a bloody day off and I’m stuck under that cloak watching your bloody boyfriend pace a hole into the floor.” Harry’s eyes widened and he made a slashing motion across his throat. She stopped, looking at him suspiciously. Harry gestured down the hall, and Hestia’s eyes got wide. 

“Oh fuck,” she whispered. “Where is he?” 

“Loo, but I swear to Merlin and Morgana if he heard you I’m going to murder you, Tia.” Harry drew closer, looking nervously over his shoulder.“And he’s not my bloody boyfriend.” Hestia giggled, and Harry glared, but she waved him off. 

“It’ll be fine. You’ll see. But what is he doing here? He was being twitchy as all hell, all day.” She threw her cloak off, and spotting the bottle of Ogden’s, summoned herself a glass. 

“He just showed up after the game! Said he wanted to make sure I wasn’t drinking or something equally stupid.” 

“And were you?” she took a sip of her drink and threw herself across the sofa. 

“No! I was stripping the bloody wallpaper!” He waved at the hall behind him, and she cocked her head. 

“That was two hours ago. What have you been doing since?” She grinned suggestively, and Harry resisted the urge to hex her. 

“He’s been helping.” Hestia sat up, arching an eyebrow. “Feel free to join us,” he grit out, looking pointedly at her. She looked slightly put out, but then shrugged, swallowing the rest of the liquor from her glass. 

“Alright, but I insist that I pick the albums this time. No more of that mopey shit.” 

“Fine. Are my eardrums going to be intact when we’re through?” She was already flicking through the collection of records, and she looked up, grinning as he pulled a familiar black cover free. 

“Nope.” The deep ringing bells started, and the beginning of the _Back in Black_ album blared through the speakers a moment later, and he rolled his eyes, but smiled. As a half-blood, she was whole-heartedly appreciative of Sirus’s extensive classic rock collection, and regularly took on the mantle of DJ when they were together. 

“What is that?” Draco reappeared, his nose scrunched in distaste. 

“That, my sleek little Slytherin, is the greatest rock band to grace this earth.” Hestia wiggled her fingers in a hello wave, grabbing the paintbrush Harry had discarded when she’d come in. Harry gestured at the logo across his own chest. 

“Don’t argue, it won’t end well.” 

“Less talk, more whiskey and more paint,” Hestia crowed over the chorus of  _ Hell’s Bells.  _ Harry shrugged at Draco, passed him the bottle of whiskey, and joined Hestia at the wall with a fresh paintbrush. Not quite half an hour later, they’d made significant progress both with the wall and the bottle, and Harry stretched as Hestia flipped the record. 

Draco poured himself a third glass of whiskey, and rolled his own shoulders. Rain still pattered against the window, but Harry noticed Draco had stopped flinching at the lightning. 

“What happened to her things?” Harry looked up to see Draco tapping the side of his glass with one long finger, contemplating the liquid thoughtfully. 

“Uh… Narcissa’s?” Harry’s own second glass of whiskey was evidently catching up to him. 

“No, McGonagall’s.  _ Yes, Mother’s.”  _ He looked exasperatedly up, and Harry noticed for the first time how perfectly the paint matched his eyes. Harry tore his eyes from the silver streak across the skin of his throat as the music started. 

“Tia, turn it down before ‘Mione gets back.” Hestia huffed, but lowered the volume and he rubbed at his eyes, trying to think through the haze of exhaustion, alcohol, and music. 

“The healers still have everything, I think.” 

“They shouldn’t have been able to remove her wedding ring.” Draco said as Hestia rejoined them in the hallway. “It’s enchanted. Only a Malfoy can remove it.” 

Harry shook his head. “She was still wearing it.” 

“No she wasn’t,” Draco insisted. 

“Yes she was, I saw it!” Harry thought back, and was sure he remembered the slim silver band on her ring finger. 

“I’ve been sitting there staring at where it should be for the past week. It’s not on her damn hand!” Harry blinked at him for a moment, and mapped out Narcissa’s hospital room in his head. Harry had been sitting between her and the wall with the window, with Draco on her other side, between her and the door. Harry had been sitting on her right side, which meant that Draco had indeed been in the prime position to see where her ring should have rested on her left hand. 

“Why would they leave the ring on her right hand and not her wedding ring then?” Harry looked to Draco in confusion. 

“Are you not listening? They couldn’t have removed it. It had to have been her or Father because it sure as hell wasn’t me. And she doesn’t even wear a ring on her right hand.” Draco set the glass down hard. “I got a whole fucking lecture on it about fifty times, I would know.” 

Harry looked to Hestia, his mind racing. 

“There wasn’t a ring right after the attack.” Harry heard his voice as if someone else was saying the words. 

“Are you sure?” Hestia flicked her wand, silencing the record completely, and he sunk down to sit on the stairs, a hand clamped over his mouth. 

“I came around the corner from her right. It was her right hand that was stretched out. But where was her wand?” 

“She’s right handed, she would have had her wand in her hand.” Draco sank down onto the step next to Harry, his pale eyebrows drawing together. 

Harry pushed his glasses up, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars.  _ Where had her wand been? What had she been reaching for?  _

“Tia what did the witness statements say?” He looked up, her face coming into focus as he dropped his glasses back into place. She shook her head, both hands going up to tighten her ponytail. 

“They all said the same thing, that you were the first one to reach her and--” 

“No I wasn’t.” Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and he looked to Draco, who clenched his jaw, his eyes flashing like chips of ice.

“I will fucking kill him if he--” Harry’s hand shot out, gripping Draco’s forearm. Draco’s eyes dropped to where Harry’s hand wrapped around his arm, and then slowly back up to meet Harry’s. Harry wasn’t sure if it was him or Draco that was shaking, but he didn’t want to let go. He tore his eyes away to find his partner.

“Tia Kingsley--” 

She was already throwing herself through the door and down in front of the fireplace, the flames flaring emerald. Harry released his hold and launched himself from where he sat on the stairs to follow her into the room, Draco right behind him. Harry had to stop himself for reaching out for him a CB gain, instead focusing on how to relay to Kingsley what they had just realized. 

The longer Hestia stayed on the rug, the more anxious Harry became, until she withdrew her head, scrambling to her feet. “He’s coming, but for the love of Merlin, don’t lose your damn head.” Harry started to object, but she cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. “Either of you!” 

Harry shifted on his feet, and Draco scoffed softly beside him. Hestia glared at them, but stood on Harry’s other side, watching the fireplace apprehensively. The flames rose, turning green, but it wasn’t Kingsley that appeared. Ron stepped out, Hermione right behind him. Their smiles faded as they looked at the tense expressions of the three, and Ron angled himself between Draco and Hermione. 

“Ron,” Hestia warned, and Hermione grabbed Ron’s arm, jerking him aside. Harry stepped forward, putting himself between his best friend and Draco, but it didn’t stop Ron from drawing his wand. Harry had his own wand in his hand, but Hestia and Hermione simultaneously stepped between them, and that was the scene Kingsley stepped in to find. 

“What the bloody hell, Harry?” Ron looked outraged, his face morphing into an expression of disgust even as Hermione pulled on his arm with all her strength. 

“Ron, don’t! Harry!” Hermione’s eyes were wide as she looked between the two. 

Hestia had both hands planted against Harry’s chest, pushing him back, but he stayed firmly planted. 

“Weasley, Potter, Jones!” Kingsley’s voice boomed through the room, his sudden appearance making Hermione jump and lose her grip on Ron’s arm. The three aurors snapped to attention where they stood, though Ron and Harry still sported murderous expressions. “Jones, explain yourself.” 

Hestia cringed at his authoritative tone, and Harry kicked himself, knowing full well it was his fault, though she would blame herself. It wasn’t Hestia that spoke up though. 

“Minister, it was a misunderstanding, that’s all.” Hermione looked desperately around the assembled figures. 

Kingsley turned slowly, eyeing them one by one in his slow, deliberate way. “Is that true?” 

Harry cleared his throat. “Yes sir.” Hestia nodded, and Ron’s fists tightened at his sides, but he nodded once. 

“I assume this is not why you needed me.” Kingsley’s deep voice reverberated around the room, and Hestia cringed again. 

“No, sir. Ron and Hermione only arrived just before yourself.” Hestia’s voice didn’t waver, but Harry knew how much she hated being on uneven footing with her former partner. Kingsley’s eyes lingered on her for a moment before he turned to the pair still dressed in Harpies t-shirts. 

“Then I don’t believe you are needed. Dismissed.” Ron looked as if he was going to argue, but Hermione took hold of his arm and yanked, hard. 

“Come on,” she hissed, not sparing another look at Draco. Draco shuffled uncomfortably away as they passed, looking sidelong at Harry, who was staring resolutely ahead. The door shut firmly behind them, and Kingsley’s posture relaxed slightly. 

“Tia, please explain why I’m here at nearly 22:00 on a Wednesday?” At her nickname, Hestia dropped her position, relaxing her shoulders. 

“We think we know who cursed Narcissa Malfoy.” 

“And who did it,” Draco finally spoke up, stepping up beside Harry. His voice was tight, but he didn’t shy away when Kingsley turned to face him fully. 

“And?” Kingsley remained stoney faced, gaze locked with the younger man. Harry glanced at Draco, again pushing away the urge to reach out to him, though he wasn’t sure if it was to lend him strength, or to draw from his. 

Draco squared his shoulders, and he said the words that Harry feared would break him. 

“It was my father.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join me on Instagram and Tumblr at the same username if you want to chat, share your thoughts, or rant at me! 
> 
> Xoxo, 
> 
> Ruby


	15. So Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco set a trap for Lucius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one has been on hiatus, but I have every intention of giving them a proper ending. 
> 
> To new readers, welcome. To returning fans, welcome back to the ride!

Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders again. They’d been sitting in Narcissa’s room all day, after the late night they’d pulled formulating their plan. 

“Good gods Potter, can’t you just sit still?” Draco hissed from his place across the bed. 

“No, actually I can’t,” Harry hissed back. “My neck is killing me.” He didn’t know how Draco managed to look completely unaffected after an all-nighter, not a hair out of place and his blue button-down pressed to perfection. 

“What is taking them so bloody long?” Draco glanced towards the door and Harry clenched his jaw. 

“What, can’t you sit still, Malfoy?” He couldn’t help himself, and he grinned at Draco’s exasperated glare. It was easier to get under his skin than to think about what would be coming before the evening was over. If it worked, they might have Narcissa back. If not… Harry couldn’t think of the alternative. 

“No, actually I can’t,” Draco shot back, but it lacked any heat. Harry watched as he shifted in his chair a few more times before getting to his feet, pacing the short length of the room. Harry itched to reach out to him, to stop him or to snog him into stillness, he wasn’t sure. So he braced his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands tightly, letting his head hang. 

The clock’s slow ticking was excruciating, and Harry was about to burst when the door opened, and Millie appeared. She nodded her hellos, and Draco came to a stop, leaning against the far wall. They watched her familiar wand movements, but she stopped halfway through. 

“What is it, Millie?” Draco drifted closer, and Harry lifted his head, watching her closely. 

“Her tests have changed. She’s not--” Millie stopped. “I need to take her for more in depth testing.” 

Draco’s hands formed fists at his side. “What does that mean, Millie?” 

She flicked her wand, propping the door open and began to maneuver Narcissa’s bed from the room. 

“It means you need to get your father here, and prepare yourself.” Harry caught sight of the shocked looks from Metcalfe and Pence outside the door. 

“Millie!” Draco followed the healer down the hall, and Harry took a deep breath, fighting to stay calm. 

“I’ll be bringing Lucius Malfoy,” he said in the general direction of his colleagues. “Be ready.” They nodded, and Harry squared his shoulders, facing the floo. “Malfoy Manor.” He was swept away in a cyclone of emerald flame.

***

Draco caught up to Millie as she levitated the bed into a similar room two hallways over. There Hestia, Bernie, and Ron waited. Millie crossed her arms, stepping out of the way while Draco closed the door carefully behind him. 

“I’m glad your acting skills have improved since third year,” Millie told Draco dryly. Ron scoffed softly, and Hestia elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Ron scowled, but fell silent. 

“Bernie, do you have the polyjuice?” He produced the flask, passing it to Hestia, who dropped in a single, long blond hair. It bubbled slowly, fading from grey. 

“She looks like those toothflossing stringmints Hermione stashes everywhere,” Hestia said with an air of disappointment, swirling the thick potion around the flask, now a pale blue. “Not as pretty as Goldie’s, but not as bad as that burgundy bitch from Finance...” 

“Just drink the bloody potion and get on with it,” Draco growled. 

Hestia rolled her eyes, but raised the glass in silent salute, before drinking it in one go. “Gods this stuff is awful no matter who it is,” she said with a grimace, her hair already shifting from black to platinum blonde. Harry and Draco watched in distaste as her skin bubbled and shifted until a carbon copy of Narcissa stood before them. 

“Alright. Up on the bed.” Millie snapped her fingers impatiently, and Hestia-Narcissa climbed rather gracelessly onto the second, empty bed. 

Draco groaned. “It’s a bloody good thing you’ll be acting dead. Father would see through that before you lifted a finger.” Hestia stuck her tongue out at him, and Ron shuddered. 

“Tia, knock if off. I’ll never unsee that.” 

“For once, Weasley, we’re in agreement. Never do that again.” Draco crossed his arms, watching as Millie carefully arranged the sheet over Hestia-Narcissa’s prone form. 

Once she looked as serene as the true Narcissa, Millie looked around. “Everybody ready?” They each nodded, and then she was levitating the bed back down the hallway, Draco on her heels as the door shut Ron and Bernie in with Narcissa’s still-comatose form. 

“Millie! What does it  _ mean?  _ What changed? She was fine--” 

“The curse has been siphoning off her magic, Draco. She’s not strong enough to keep it at bay any longer.” They slowed as Millie maneuvered her back into the room, Aurors Pence and Metcalf shooting pitying looks at Draco as he ran his hands through his hair. 

“But--” 

“Draco stop your snivelling.” Lucius Malfoy stepped out from behind the curtain in Narcissa’s room, Harry behind him, looking incensed. Draco recoiled as if he’d been hit, and even Pence flinched. 

“You can’t—“ 

“Be  _ quiet,  _ boy.” 

Draco clenched his jaw, willing himself to stay silent. It was hard to do when Harry looked as if he was going to lose his head at any second, but they’d discussed this. Draco had warned him that since his return from Paris that his father had been particularly short-fused. Shooting a contemptuous look at his father, Draco crossed his arms tightly over his chest and waited. 

“Potter said you told him she was dying,” Lucius snapped, turning his attention to Millie. To her credit, she didn’t flinch away from him. Impressive, considering she’d spent most of their childhoods positively terrified of Lucius, and his bloody peacocks. 

“Yes, sir. Her magic was protecting her at first, but even magic has limits. It’s beginning to cause her body to fail. By our estimates she’s got a day, maybe two at the most before it kills her.” Millie’s voice didn’t waver, and even though he knew it was an act, bile rose in his throat. Darting out the door towards the men’s room wasn’t the exit they’d planned, but it worked well enough. Harry followed close on his heels, waving off the aurors that flanked the door.

Draco fell to his knees in front of the toilet, heaving. His empty stomach cramped, but nothing came up. 

“Here, little sips. It’ll help.” He hadn’t heard Harry follow him in, but he found he didn’t mind. He minded even less when a comforting hand landed on his shoulder, and one of the hospital’s paper cups was lowered in front of him. He took the cup, the first few sips of cool water easing the burn in his throat. 

“She can’t die,” Draco whispered, his voice rough. “I need her, Harry.” 

“We’re not going to let her. But we need you to finish this. Are you ready?” 

Draco took a deep breath, and took Harry’s proffered hand. “Lets get Mother back.” 

***

Harry stepped out of the men’s room and steeled himself. He could feel Draco at his elbow under the cloak, and his skin still burned where Draco had taken his hand. Now was not the time to let his cock cock things up, but it was hard to focus until he thought of Narcissa, lying in the wrong room, Hestia in her place with nobody between her and a monster like Lucius Malfoy. 

“Millie! I need some help in here!” He poked his head around the corner long enough for both Aurors to see him, then ducked back behind the corner, and joined Draco under the cloak. It was difficult to hide them both, but it had been impossible with Ron’s taller, broader frame, so Draco won out.    


  
Millie opened the door, carefully pausing in the doorway with her body angled enough for the two men to squeeze past her. “Did I hear my name?” Metcalfe pointed towards the corner where Harry had been, and Millie headed around the corner while Draco and Harry shuffled silently to the corner of Narcissa’s room, where they watched Lucius standing at the foot of her bed, eyes raking over her still form. 

After several seconds, he leaned heavily on his serpent-headed walking stick, his shoulders bowing. He lowered himself slowly into the same chair that Draco had been occupying, and Harry glanced at Draco to find a look of disbelief on his face. Harry grasped his arm, a silent reminder to stay quiet and still, but he didn’t let go, instead tightening his hold as Lucius began to speak. 

“Why didn’t you listen to me? Why didn’t you leave?” Harry could hear the anger in his voice giving way to the grief and sadness of a broken man. Harry never thought he’d see the day he felt sorry for Lucius Malfoy, but his proud shoulders began to shake, and he bent over where he held her hand, pressing his lips to the backs of her fingers. Harry silently begged Tia not to flinch away from his affections, but her self control was impeccable, and she stayed perfectly still.

He reached into his pocket, and withdrew something small. Harry recognized it as Narcissa’s wedding ring, the emeralds and diamonds glittering in the low light. He slid it into place on her finger, and pressed her palm to his cheek. 

“I’m so sorry, Cissy. I love you and I’m so sorry.” Harry could see his tears dripping down her wrist, and something prickled at his memory uncomfortably. He squeezed Draco’s arm harder, until he grimaced, and tried to pry Harry’s fingers from his arm. 

“He loves her,” he breathed, and Draco looked confused.

“Obviously, Potter. Always has.” 

Lucius didn’t look up, too lost in his grief to hear their low whispers. 

“Then why did he tell me he never did?” Harry searched Draco’s face, and he looked even more confused.

“He wouldn’t have said that on threat of his life. He didn’t deny it to the Dark Lord, why would he lie to  _ you?  _ He hasn’t left his bedroom since this happened, he’s been so distraught. _ ”  _

Harry’s mind raced, and he could only come to one conclusion. “He didn’t.... Stay here.” It looked like Draco was going to object, but he was already slipping out from underneath the cloak, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, as if he’d been in the same spot the whole time. 

“Why did you take her ring off?” 

Lucius jumped, and simultaneously reached reflexively for a wand he no longer carried, and threw himself in front of Narcissa’s body. 

“Potter,” he growled, relaxing only slightly. “How long have you been there?” 

“Long enough.” Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “So why’d you take her ring?” 

“Why is it any of your concern?” Lucius reached for her hand again, and retook his seat beside her bed. 

“I just think it’s an odd thing to do. Especially considering the circumstances.” Harry cocked his head. “Where were you the night she was attacked, about nine thirty?” 

“Potter, my wife is dying. Must you rob me of the last time I will get to--” his voice caught, and he looked sharply away. 

“If it saves her, yes. Now where the bloody hell were you?” Harry’s patience was slipping. He was so close to-- to  _ something.  _ But he didn’t know what yet. 

“After you escorted Narcissa here, I retired to my chambers, where I’ve been until you barged in unceremoniously an hour ago. I expected to be informed, and yet its been weeks and I didn’t get so much as--” 

“Is there a floo in your room?” Harry interrupted him.

Lucius looked disgusted by even the suggestion. “Of course not. Narcissa and I like our privacy.” 

“Who had access to your house that night?” Harry could feel it. The answer was  _ right there.  _

Lucius looked annoyed, and rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly. “Aurors, curse breakers. I don’t know their names. But why does it matter now?” 

Harry began to pace, wracking his brain for the piece that was missing.  _ Who would have it out for the Malfoys and himself? Who could have gotten in without bringing attention to themselves?  _

“Fuck. Tia, who was on duty that night? Who responded?” 

Hestia-Narcissa sat up, and Lucius gasped. “Sorry Mr Malfoy. Not actually your wife.” She pulled her hand from his grasp, retrieved her wand from where it had been wedged under her leg, and summoned a file that had been stashed under a spare pillow in the cupboard. “Uhhh responding Aurors: Potter, Harry. Pence, Sylvia. Metcalfe, Brenda. Lucas, Francis. Preston, Derek. Jamison, Owen. York, Eleanor. Hollyacre, Phil. 

Lucius was still sputtering when Draco ripped the cloak off, revealing himself. “Potter, what the hell? This was not the--” 

“Thats it! Tia! There’s an even number. Eight aurors responded total.”

“Response numbers are always even--” and then understanding dawned in her eyes. “But I wasn’t there and you were!

“Who the hell are you, and where is my wife?” Lucius looked angrier that Harry had ever seen him, but he couldn’t be bothered to stop to explain. "Draco what--"

“Constable Hestia Jones, sir. Mrs Malfoy is under protective guard in another room.” 

“She’s supposed to be protected in  _ this  _ room!” Lucius glared at her, and Harry waved him off impatiently, lunging for the file. 

His eyes skated over the list of responding aurors, and settled on the one that was out of place. 

“I know who did it.” 


	16. Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The culprit is uncovered

Harry could hear the aurors murmuring in the hall, and he sighed. They were almost there. Being trapped in a room with Draco, Lucius, and Tia for the last half hour had been near excruciating, with Draco glaring at his father, Lucius glaring at Hestia-Narcissa, and Hestia’s eyes flicking between Draco and Harry like she was watching a particularly fascinating badminton match. 

“TJ, stop it. You’re giving me the creeps.” Draco turned to face the window instead of Hestia, and Harry leaned his back against the door, catching Draco’s eye in the reflection of the window. He gave Draco the slightest of nods, trying to reassure him. 

“This better work, Potter. I want my  _ actual  _ wife back,” Lucius muttered, and crossed his arms in a distinctly petulant move that reminded Harry of a younger Draco. 

“You’re not the only one that wants her back,” Draco spat over his shoulder. “Harry and I need her too.” 

Lucius arched an eyebrow, but stayed quiet at Draco’s use of Harry’s given name and inclusion into their circle. 

“I’ve rather missed her stopping by the office,” Hestia mused. “I have to find out where she gets those orange almond croissants. They’re heavenly.” 

Draco snorted. “Sassy. One of our house elves. Buf if you tell her you like them, you’ll be drowning in them, so tread carefully.” 

“He speaks from experience. He still can’t look at chocolate sauce without gagging,” Lucius chuckled, and Harry snorted. 

“How do you know that?” Draco turned to face his father, curiosity peeking out through his protective wall of hostility. 

“I’m still your father,” Lucius sniffed imperiously, and Harry shrugged at Draco from behind Lucius. He certainly hadn’t known Draco’s aversion to chocolate sauce. 

“That doesn’t mean you know anything about me,” Draco huffed, turning back to the window. 

“And I probably wouldn’t, if it wasn’t for your mother. But I do still care, Draco.” 

Hestia shot Harry a look that told him she felt just as intrusive to be listening in on the conversation as Harry did, and he was relieved when Millie entered before Draco could answer. She took one look at Hestia-Narcissa sitting up, and the sour looks on Lucius and Draco’s faces before turning to Harry. 

“Plan B, then, I take it?” 

“More like plan J, but yeah.” Harry nervously smoothed his hair down, and she smirked.

“I take it back. Definitely not on the fence anymore.” 

“Millie!” He yelped, but she was already eying Hestia. 

“How confident are you that you can mimic her?” 

“Is that really necessary?” Lucius asked through gritted teeth, and Millie arched an eyebrow, staring him down. 

“Do you want to take your chances with removing the cursed object without knowing if it’s booby trapped with a rebound curse that will kill you both? No? Then yes, it might be necessary.” 

Harry couldn’t help but admire the hell out of her for her expert handling of the Malfoy patriarch. 

“I can do it if it comes down to it. She and Andi are pretty close in mannerisms and I’ve had her down since fifth year.” 

Lucius’ eyebrows flew up at an alarming rate, and Harry cleared his throat. Now probably wasn’t the time to share that Hestia was his dead and disowned niece’s best friend.

“Alrighty. Draco, are you ready?” He nodded tightly, and then looked to Lucius. “And you?” Lucius rolled his eyes, but shoved his walking stick at Draco, and stood facing away from Harry, hands behind him. He flinched at the enchanted handcuffs closing around his wrists, but didn’t complain as Harry put a hand on his shoulder to guide him out of the door. 

“You don’t have to say anything, but  it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence." The words felt bitter on his tongue, even though he knew he wasn’t actually arresting him. He thanked Merlin that it wasn’t Draco playing this part. He couldn’t stomach it. 

“Potter, what the hell?” Romero looked shocked, and Harry jerked his head at Narcissa’s room. 

“We caught him trying to reverse the curse, but it was too late.” Harry’s throat closed at the words, and he had no doubt that genuine grief showed on his face. 

“But you-- You’re suspended!” Jamison looked furious. 

“Doesn’t matter. I checked. He’s the reason Narcissa’s dead and I’m taking him in.” Harry said it a bit more forcefully than necessary, and Romero stepped into the doorway, where Draco had thrown himself over Hestia-Narcissa’s legs, and Millie was gripping his shoulders. She looked up, shaking her head at the auror. 

“Holy shit, Potter. You’ll make Sergeant for sure for this,” Romero whispered, and Harry shoved Lucius away. 

“You think I care about a bloody  _ rank,  _ Romero? Narcissa is dead!” He came chest to chest with the older auror, and Jamison pulled his partner away. 

“Potter, now’s not the time. And he only gets the promotion if he’s got the right one, now, doesn’t he?” Jamison smirked. “I suppose time will tell. Why don’t you go with Potter, make sure this scumbag is booked properly? I’ll stay here with the body.” 

Romero glared at his partner, but looked to Harry. “I didn’t mean it like that, Potter. I know you cared about her. I’m sorry. Can I help?” 

Harry eyed Romero. “Fine. I need a second signature to book him anyway, and Tia’s still not talking to me.” Romero cringed, but nodded once and took Lucius’ shoulder. They led him down the corner, and down the hall two over before Harry pulled Romero to a stop. 

“Look. I know you’re a good auror, and I’m sorry I had to lie to you. Narcissa isn’t dead, Lucius didn’t do it, and he’s not under arrest. Romero looked momentarily stunned, then drew his wand on Harry. He held his hands up in surrender, right as Bernie and Ron emerged from the room that held the real Narcissa. 

“Romero, he’s not imperioused. Lower your wand.” Bernie’s tone left no room for argument, and Romero lowered his wand slowly. 

“Get these bloody things off of me,” Lucius growled, and Ron released the cuffs, tucking them away, despite his distrustful glare. 

“Mateo, how well do you know Owen? Bernie grasped his elbow, and Romero shook his head. 

“We’ve only been partnered for a couple months. He’s got a big mouth and a chip on his shoulder, but--” He stopped, looking around at the assembly. “Do you think he did it? To get back at Potter?” 

“What did Potter do to put my wife in danger?” Lucius was quickly growing angry again. 

“He’s an entitled knob that thinks that because he’s been sitting on his arse with the department for longer means that he should get promoted over those of us that actually do the heavy lifting,” Ron explained, his expression darkening. 

“We need to get back in that room before Draco and Millie leave,” Harry urged them. “Ron doesn’t fit under the cloak with me, and we need Sarge here for when the cursebreakers get here for Narcissa. Romero- Mateo-- Will you help us? Tia’s in that room, and she needs back up.” 

Romero’s dark eyes bore into Harry’s for a long moment, before nodding. “You better not be wrong, Potter,” he warned, but allowed himself to be covered by the invisibility cloak. 

They hurried back down the hall, and Harry could hear Millie telling Draco to come along for a cup of tea. They passed each other in the doorway, and Harry let his fingers drag over Draco’s hand, letting him know they were there. Draco’s shaky exhale made Harry wish he could do more, but this was it. He and Romero took up the same corner he’d stood in with Draco just an hour before, and waited. 

It didn’t take long at all before Jamison was creeping into the room, his face twisted into a grotesque grin. 

“Killed you faster than it was supposed to. It was supposed to last for months, but beggars can’t be choosers. Shame that he got it so wrong and your arsewipe of a husband is taking the fall. I suppose it works out, I hadn’t figured out how to pin it on your worthless son. Maybe I still can. I’m not letting fucking  _ Potter  _ get the credit for what I did.” He picked up her hand, examined the emerald and diamond ring before dropping her hand unceremoniously and reaching for the other. Harry could see his confusion from where he stood, and Romero already had his wand out.

“Where is it?” He started groping Hestia-Narcissa’s chest, and Hestia didn’t hesitate, smacking the side of his head so hard he lost his balance, flailing comically. 

“Stupify!” Romero hissed, and Jamison hit the floor before he could so much as draw his own wand, crashing into the side table as he went. 

Hestia-Narcissa sat up, and gave Jamison a disgusted look that Harry was positive he’d seen on Narcissa’s face before. Harry ripped the invisibility cloak off, and Romero quickly disarmed his partner and bound him. 

“What a wanker,” Hestia said, just as her skin began to bubble and melt like wax, revealing her own features and dark hair again. 

“Thank fuck,” Harry breathed, and tackled her with a hug. “I thought for sure he had you when he grabbed your hand.” 

“Nah, the idiot was too busy with his monologue. Honestly, how  _ bad  _ of a bad guy do you have to be to have a fucking  _ monologue?”  _

Draco burst in a moment later, Millie on his heels. He looked from Jamison on the floor, to Romero standing with his wand trained on him, to Harry holding Hestia in a bearhug. Harry immediately felt his face flush at Draco’s arched eyebrow, but he let go slowly. Millie dropped to her needs and checked Jamison’s vitals.

“Tia, go get dressed and get Robards and the minister. I don’t think they want us marching him through the ministry in uniform, and we need to know how to get the damn ring off Narcissa without hurting her.” 

“Harry…” 

“And where the bloody hell is Hermione? She said she’d look into some countercurses and talk to Bill between cases!” 

“Harry!” 

“We need to get some backup here. Are York and Hollyacre on? They would have seen him at the Manor--” 

“Potter!” 

Harry snapped his attention back to Draco, who was wearing an expression that looked to be a cross between petulant and exasperated. 

“Three of the Weasleys and Granger are with her now. They think they can reverse it.” 

Millie stood, and rolled her eyes at Harry. “Maybe you should have let him go, Draco. By the time he ran out of orders, she’d be awake. But I’m going back to make sure the meatheads don’t muck it up, and if you two could kiss already so I can collect my winnings from Pansy when she gets here, I’d appreciate it ever so much.” 

She stalked out, leaving Draco pink-cheeked, Romero muttering unintelligibly, and Hestia giggling like mad from where she perched on the bed. 

“Godsdammit I should have taken that bet when I had the chance,” she laughed, hopping down and pulling her scarlet robes from where she’d stashed them in the pillowcase. 

“I’m just gonna…” Romero mumbled, and levitated Jamison’s still-limp form onto the bed, and skirted out of the room as quickly as he could manage, leaving them alone. 

Draco watched him go, and faced Harry, his eyes guarded. 

“I don’t--”

“Draco, I--” 

They overlapped each other, and stopped, both shifting uncomfortably. 

“Harry, mate!” Ron barged in, and stopped dead in his tracks, looking between Harry and Draco, obviously aware he’d interrupted. “Uh… ahem.” He cleared his throat. “When you’re done, Charlie and Bill think they can do it, but they need someone with a blood relation.” He tilted his head at Draco. 

Draco didn’t wait for Harry to answer, and Ron stepped automatically aside for him to pass.

“Blimey, mate. What did you say? When Hermione has that look it means I’m not getting laid for a week--”

“Shut up, Ron. Can you watch his arsehole so I can go see Narcissa?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the unconscious auror, and Ron nodded. “Robards and the Minister should be here shortly.” 

“Sure thing.” Harry went to move past him, but Ron caught his arm in an iron grip. “I’m glad we got him. And Draco… He’s not so bad.” 

Harry nodded, unable to make his brain or mouth form any words that would be appropriate. Ron let go of his arm, and Harry turned towards the second room. They’d caught the person responsible, but he felt as if in doing so, he’d lost something, too. 


	17. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions are made

Draco winced as the slicing hex bit into his palm, blood pooling in his hand, and the Weasley across his mother’s bed turned his hand carefully, coating the silver ring in his blood, and the other, with incredible precision, magically slid the ring from her finger, dropping it into a carefully warded box held by Granger. She snapped the box closed, let out a sigh of relief and handed it off to the Auror in black sergeant’s robes. 

The Weasley that had carefully cut open his palm flashed him a grin, and traded places with Millie, allowing her to heal the shallow cut in his skin. He watched the dragon fang hanging from the rather handsome Weasley’s ear as she did, trying not to think of the last time he’d been sliced open. He’d introduced himself as Charlie, but given the way he was looking at Millie, Draco wasn’t his type.  Not that it mattered. He’d never be satisfied with anyone that wasn’t the git currently hovering at Narcissa’s feet with his father. The Weasley with the scars across his face and neck carefully cleaned Draco’s blood from Narcissa’s hand, and Draco marveled that they were treating them all so… Gently. Respectfully. 

“How long before we know if it works?” Lucius’ voice was softer than Draco had ever heard it, and Draco saw Granger chew on her bottom lip and rubbed her left forearm before answering, equally softly. 

“Hopefully within the hour. Charlie do you…?” 

“It seems to be an adaptation of one of the old curses that used to be used to control dragons.” His eyes flicked toward Draco as he spoke. “It was toned down, meant to keep her alive for an extended period. But it’s hard to say, not knowing exactly how it was altered. A witches magic isn’t like a dragon’s. Air or water versus fire.” 

“Honestly we were lucky Charlie was here for Fr-- George’s birthday.” The scarred brother cleared his throat, looking sharply away, and Granger shifted uncomfortably. 

“We couldn’t have done it without Charlie,” she said, smiling at him, though Draco could see the sadness behind her eyes. Millie, on the other hand, looked impressed, and Draco snorted. 

“What was that about meatheads mucking it up?” He gave her a pointed look, and she glared back at him but Charlie erupted into loud laughs. He was quickly followed by his brother, Granger, and Harry. Draco’s stomach flipped uncomfortably at Harry’s laugh, his green eyes sparkling as Millie huffed. 

“Better safe than sorry,” she insisted, and busied herself with monitoring charms. 

When their laughs had died away, Charlie jerked his head towards the door. “Bill, ‘Mione. We can leave them to it. We’ll check in later.” 

Harry looked conflicted, not included in Charlie’s order, but not quite family, either. Draco swallowed hard, and brushed his hand with his fingers, just as Harry had done to him under the cloak earlier. “Stay. She’d want you to stay.” 

His father didn’t object, and for that, he was grateful. Lucius took the far side, and Harry settled into a chair beside him. He could feel the heat radiating off his body, and Draco tried not to think about the previous night, their chests pressed together, his lips so close he could feel Harry’s breath on his cheek.  _ Gods, had that really only been last night?  _ Exhaustion was crashing down on him, and it wasn’t until Harry’s hand landed on his knee and squeezed lightly that he realized Narcissa was stirring. He instinctively grabbed for his hand, holding on like a lifeline, squeezing hard and trying to breathe. 

“Narcissa?” Lucius’ voice, though soft, seemed to echo through the room like a clap of thunder, and Harry twisted his hand, entwining their fingers. 

“Took you long enough,” she mumbled, and Harry huffed a laugh beside him and doubled over, his free hand wiping tears out from underneath his glasses. “Draco?” 

“Mum?” Draco’s voice broke, and he took her hand, pressing it to her cheek, much as he’d seen his father do earlier. Her fingers were warm and soft, and the tears began to flow freely when she swiped her thumb over his cheekbone. He’d been so afraid she’d never do that again. 

“I’m so glad you’re home.” Her voice was weak, but it was hers, and that was enough. 

The door creaked open, and Draco turned to see Hestia, now dressed in scarlet auror’s robes instead of a hospital gown. She came forward slowly, a broad smile nearly splitting her face in two. “Welcome back, Mrs Malfoy. We’ve missed you.”  Narcissa gave her a tiny smile, and Hestia shifted her attention to Lucius. “I thought you’d want this back before she woke up, but better late than never?” She held out Narcissa’s ring on a flat palm, and Lucius hesitantly reached for it. “I would have been in sooner, but well Kings-- I mean the Minister-- He’s here.” 

Lucius gave her a curious look, and then said slowly. “Thank you, Constable Jones. I’m in your debt. Should you ever need assistance.... All you need to do is ask.” 

Hestia looked surprised, but nodded. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Tia, darling,” Narcissa spoke up slightly, her voice stronger than it had been. “Tell the Minister to get on with it, before he loses you.” Draco hadn’t the faintest idea what she meant, but Hestia flushed slightly. 

“I will. Feel better,” she whispered, and slipped from the room. 

“Harry, Draco. You should go get some sleep. You were up all night, and it’s been a difficult few weeks for you.” 

“But--” Harry started to object, and was silenced by a single look from Narcissa. 

“I heard it all, Harry. Go. Home.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he swallowed hard. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Narcissa reached up and touched his cheek. 

“Go on, dear. Take Draco, before he topples over.” 

Draco didn’t have the strength to even try arguing, and Harry was still holding his hand tightly, so he allowed himself to be pulled from the hospital room. The halls were shockingly quiet, after the events of the afternoon, and when they came across the minister and a grizzled older man that reminded Draco of a younger Mad-Eye Moody with wavy hair, he didn’t say a word, letting Harry handle it. 

“Well done, Potter. I won’t say I’m not disappointed it was one of our own, but you did well.” The man in the robes that looked like auror robes, save that they were grey and navy, instead of the grey, black, or red Draco was accustomed to. 

“Thank you, sir. I appreciated the opportunity.” Harry sounded as tired as Draco felt, and Draco was relieved when the Minister stepped up. 

“Gawain, I suggest we let these two go home and get some rest. With a full confession, their statements can wait until tomorrow.” The minister’s slow, measured voice could have lulled him to sleep, and Harry’s hand tightened briefly around Draco’s. 

“Very well, Minister. Potter, report to debrief at 1400 tomorrow. Mister Malfoy, we’d very much appreciate if you came to give a statement at the same time.” 

Draco just nodded, and Harry squeezed his hand again. “Thank you Minister. Sir.” He nodded respectfully, and dragged Draco towards the floo. “You heard Narcissa. My place,” he said quietly, before releasing his hand and stepping through the floo. Draco didn’t know why he listened and followed, but when he stepped into the drawing room, it was into Harry’s waiting arms. 

***

Harry could have collapsed in relief when Draco’s arms came around him, and for several long moments, they just stood there silently, soot still clinging to their clothes and to the tear tracks on their faces. 

“You’re going to stay, right?” Harry broke the silence, and Draco’s hold loosened. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re going to stay tonight. And you’re not going to go running back to Paris now she’s recovering, right? I don’t--” 

“Potter, you daft arse.” Draco pulled back even further, and then his fingers were threading though Harry’s hair, and their lips crashed together. Harry immediately pulled Draco’s hips towards his own, and lost himself in everything Draco. The smooth, expensive cotton of his shirt, the softness of his lips and the taste of his tongue as it teased his own. He could smell his cologne and the gentle yanks on his hair that only heightened the pleasure of the kiss. 

“I told you Draco would kiss him first, You owe me five galleons, Granger.” Pansy’s voice jarred Harry from the sensations of Draco’s body against his own, and he looked around to find Pansy leaning casually against the door frame, and Hermione huffing behind her. 

“Pansy, go away,” Draco groaned, dropping his forehead against Harry’s, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Fine, but word of advice, Potter?” Harry leaned over so he could see her over Draco’s shoulder. “If you think shopping with  _ me  _ is bad, you’re in for a bad time with him as your boyfriend. Nighty night, loves. Nev’s waiting for me.” 

She stepped through the floo, and Draco and Harry’s brains seemed to come to the same conclusion at roughly the same time. 

“Did she say Nev? As in--” 

“Longbottom? Is that her trying to get back at me for not writing?” They both turned on Hermione, who rolled her eyes. 

“She bumped into him leaving St Mungo’s the day Draco got back, and they hit it off. She seems quite happy, really, and he--” 

“I refuse to believe that until I see it with my own eyes,” Draco insisted stubbornly, and Hermione shrugged. 

“Suit yourself. Ron’s still finishing up at the ministry, but we’re going out with Millie and Charlie after he’s done, so you’ll have the house to yourself,” she said with a sly smile. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” 

She disappeared, and Harry shook his head. “Why do I feel like the whole world got dumped upside down in the last month?” 

Draco shook his head. “I don’t know. And I’m too tired to care.” Harry nodded, and took his hand again. He was quite pleased that Draco didn’t object. Nor had he objected to Pansy’s blatant insinuation that they would be dating, or already were. Harry couldn’t quite keep up with Pansy sometimes. 

They reached the landing with Harry’s room, and Harry hesitated. “Do you want to be alone tonight?” 

Draco cocked his head curiously at Harry, and then chuckled slightly. “Gods you Gryffindors are terrible. I’m fairly certain we’re both too tired to do anything but sleep, and if you think I’m letting you go now, you’re dumber than I gave you credit for.” 

“If I wasn’t so tired I might take offense to that,: Harry retorted, but pushed open his door anyway. Draco slipped past him, and immediately flopped across the bed fully dressed, stealing Harry’s favorite pillow in the process. Harry kicked off his shoes and climbed up beside him, turning out the light with a flick of his wand, setting it beside his glasses on the side table.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done,” Draco murmured, his hand finding Harry’s in the darkness, their fingers tangling together again. 

“I would have done it for anyone,” he murmured back, and Draco sighed. 

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” 

“That most people aren’t like you. That you can say that you’d do it for anyone and mean it... But you did it for us. After…” Draco trailed off, and Harry rolled to his side, so he was facing him. Even in the darkness, he could see Draco’s quicksilver eyes probing, appraising. 

“After you and Narcissa both saved my life? After you changed everything?” Harry let the silence stretch between them, until he couldn’t any longer. “I’ve fancied you since sixth year. Even knowing everything I did… I couldn’t help it. And when Narcissa invited me to tea the first time, I’d be lying if I said a part of me hoped that it meant I would see you again.” 

Draco’s eyes closed, and Harry resisted the urge to cover him in soft kisses. 

“Fourth year.” Harry hummed inquisitively, and Draco sighed. “I’ve fancied you since fourth year.” 

Harry stilled, stunned by the confession. “But…” 

“I didn’t exactly handle it well,” Draco chuckled humorlessly. “But there you have it. Mother probably invited you hoping to smooth things over while I was gone. But… I’m glad she did.” 

Harry stopped fighting the urge, and kissed him softly, trailing his fingertips over the curve of his neck and through his silky hair. “I am too.” 

They fell asleep shortly thereafter, Harry’s hand in Draco’s hair, and Draco fisting Harry’s shirt, just over his heart. 

***

The next day they woke late, and if it hadn’t been for Draco’s fine hair tickling Harry’s nose from where his head rested on his chest, he probably wouldn’t have woken at all. Draco was warm, and fit against Harry like nobody else ever had. He smelled divine, and for the first time in years, Harry hadn’t been plagued with nightmares. 

Harry was content to lay there for as long as possible, breathing in the smell of Draco’s hair and feeling the steading rise and fall of his breathing. He could hear someone moving around the kitchen, probably Kreature, but for all intents and purposes, they were alone and Harry rather enjoyed the feeling. 

It was nearly noon when Draco yawned and buried his face further into Harry’s shoulder, before slowly coming to his senses and looking at Harry with wide eyes. 

“Morning,” he whispered, and Harry’s heart soared. 

“Good morning.” He reached up and brushed a lock of silvery blonde hair away from his forehead, practically humming with satisfaction when Draco leaned into his touch. 

“I was pretty sure that I was hallucinating last night,” he mumbled, and Harry laughed. 

“Thankfully not. Or Unfortunately not? I’m not sure which applies.” 

Draco glared at him, though the effect was dampened somewhat by the fact that he was still wrapped around Harry like the Great Squid, and his hair was messy from sleep. 

“If it was unfortunately I’d be hexing your arse to Australia and back.” 

“Hmm. Lucky me, then.” Harry kissed the end of his nose, and Draco rolled his eyes. 

“What time is it?” He rolled away slightly, stretching.

“Almost noon.” Harry yawned, and Draco shot upright. 

“Shit. We have to be at the Ministry at two!” 

“Yes, and? We have plenty of time. It doesn’t take that long to get there, the floo’s connected.”

“I have to go home and get dressed, Potter. I’m not walking in there unshowered and wrinkled!”

“Okay…” Harry still didn’t see the problem. “So you go home and change. Or Kreature can go get you a change of clothes and you can get ready here. It’ll take what, ten minutes?” 

Draco stopped dead from where he was tucking his shirt back in, and looked at Harry with such incredulity that Harry was surprised he didn’t burst into flames. 

“Ten-- Ten minutes?” Draco laughed, bracing his hands on his narrow hips. “You think this,” he motioned up and down his body, “takes ten minutes?” 

Harry looked at him warily from where he still lay in bed. “Don’t tell me Pansy was right,” he groaned, and Draco laughed again. 

“Pansy’s always right, Potter. Get used to it. Now come on. Get dressed, you can mope around my room while I get dressed.” 

***

All in all, it took Draco an hour and a half to finish getting showered and dressed, but Sassy had taken pity on Harry and supplied him with several dozen of the orange almond croissants he favored, and Draco’s bed was far more comfortable than his own.  When they reached the Department of Magical Law enforcement, they were taken to different interview rooms to provide memories and written statements recounting the previous day’s event, and an hour later, they were walking back into St Mungo’s, this time hand in hand. 

With an auror guard, Lucius had been allowed to stay with Narcissa, and he was laying in the bed beside her, sleeping peacefully as Narcissa stroked his hair. She looked around as Draco and Harry entered, smiling more brightly than Harry had ever seen.  Draco tightened his grip on Harry’s hand, dragging him closer as he greeted his mother with the customary kiss on the cheek. Relief and joy mingled in Draco’s eyes as he straightened, and Harry was certain the kiss Narcissa had placed on his cheek would never again be taken for granted. 

When Narcissa held out a hand for Harry, Draco still refused to let go, but she wrapped Harry in a tight, one-armed hug anyway, kissing his cheek as she had with Draco. Harry held on to Narcissa and Draco for dear life, amazed at the turns that had been taken in the last year. 

Once he’d released her, and Draco had pulled him into the seat beside him, Narcissa spoke softly, but her voice was stronger today. “You boys look better today. Did you sleep well?” She waited until they both nodded, and went on. “I owe you two a great deal. I know it wasn’t easy for you, but I’m so glad you found strength in each other.” She smiled knowingly at Draco’s flushed cheeks, and Harry squeezed his hand in solidarity. 

“Now.” Narcissa straightened, and Harry had to bite his cheek to keep from chuckling. Even in a dowdy hospital gown, with Lucius sleeping on her shoulder, she managed to look regal. It shouldn’t have surprised him, he’d thought the same thing after the battle, with her face dirtied and her robes torn. 

“Tell me everything.” Narcissa folded her hands neatly, and waited to be obeyed. A quick glance at Draco told Harry he was up, so he took a deep breath and dove in from the beginning. Narcissa was quiet as he explained the meeting with the false Lucius, though her face darkened when Harry recounted how Owen-Lucius had claimed he’d never loved Narcissa. 

“It was Draco that made me realize who it was, eventually. If he hadn’t had us look through all the case files, I never would have put it together. I knew Jamison couldn’t hold a partner, but he was the only one that reported to every single one of the most lethal curses. I don’t think he did those, but he was taking notes. Figuring out how to get past the wards.” 

Harry shook his head, bracing his elbows on his knees. Draco let go of his hand in favor of rubbing his back comfortingly as Harry pushed his glasses up and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “But he gave a full confession last night. He was going to kill you, frame Lucius and Draco if possible, all while using me to do it.” Harry drew in a shuddering breath. “It’s terrifying to know how close he got.” Dropping his hand, his glasses slid back into place, and he looked up at Narcissa to find a mildly amused smile in place. 

“Darling, you spent countless hours reading  _ Don Quixote  _ and  _ The Count of Monte Cristo  _ to what you believed at the time to be the equivalent of a corpse. Accepting death while seeking revenge. Not for a moment did I believe that you wouldn’t find the person responsible. I was just glad when Draco came back, and you allowed yourself to open up to him.” 

She reached up and stroked Lucius’ hair thoughtfully, and Draco continued his slow, rhythmic passes of his hand over Harry’s spine. “I am, too.” Harry almost missed Draco’s quiet confession, but it warmed him better than a shot of firewhiskey after a long night in the cold. Reaching over, Harry once again took Draco’s hand, and held it tightly as he leaned into him. 

“Go on, you two. Miss Bulstrode is confident that I’ll be released by Saturday, and I insist you both be there for supper, but you’ve spent far too much time in this room, and it’s time to find out who you are without my life hanging over your heads. Go. Have fun. Don’t be stupid.” 

She flicked her wrist at them, and Draco laughed.  _ Actually laughed.  _ Harry returned the kiss to his cheek this time, and waited patiently for Draco to do the same before taking the floo back to Grimmauld Place. Like the night before, Draco stepped out of the floo and into his waiting arms, but it was Harry to kiss him soundly, and Hestia to interrupt with a smug smirk.


	18. Epilogue

_ June, 2003 _

“Draco I swear to Merlin if you don’t get your sexy arse out of the shower  _ now,  _ we’re going to be late!” Harry checked his watch impatiently and smoothed down his hair. 

“I’ve been out of the shower for ages,” Draco sniffed, striding out of the closet in midnight-blue robes, looking immaculately put together. “Besides. It’s fine. Millie purposefully put half an hour earlier on the invitations to make sure the rest of the Weasleys are there on time. But if Pansy is late again because she can’t keep her bloody hands off Longbottom's arse, we’re going to have words.” Draco straightened Harry’s bow tie, and kissed the end of his nose. “Come now, Darling.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, but followed Draco through the floo, emerging into the offices of the Scot Dragon Sanctuary, following the enchanted ribbons that formed a path out to the archway surrounded by white chairs with electric indigo-coloured bows tied around the backs. They found their seats next to Minister and Mrs Shacklebolt, where Hestia handed off baby Dora to Draco. 

“Thank Merlin you’re coming back to work soon,” Harry muttered under his breath. “I might bloody well kill Kline. I don’t know how Neville stood being his partner for so long. If I had to do it for another five years, I’d quit to be a teacher too.” 

“If you had to be his partner for five more years, I’d make you quit to be a teacher far sooner than Pansy did,” Draco snorted from the other side, carefully untangling and separating some of Dora’s dark curls. 

Hestia laughed. “I’d have been back last week if the bloody minister wasn’t such a worry wart,” she said with a good-natured smirk. Kingsley pretended not to hear on her other side, and Hestia winked at Harry. 

“Merlin, TJ. What did you do to her hair? Hand her over to Granger?” Draco was still separating tiny ringlets, and Ron turned around from the row in front of them. 

“It’s Nott, now, ferret, And I’ll have you know she has very nice hair.” 

“Careful, Weasel. But yes, Draco. She has lovely hair.” Theo glared at Draco.

“You would side with the Weasel,” Draco muttered darkly, and Harry rolled his eyes at their never-ending banter. He was saved when Neville sat beside Ron’s wife Susan, and Matteo Romero joined him a moment later. 

Romero twisted around immediately. “Whatever you do, tell her you like the bloody cake. I swear to god I’ll do anything.” He stopped dead when his wife, a pretty brunette with a warm smile and a smudge of frosting across the golden tan skin of her shoulder slid into the seat next to him, looking slightly frazzled. 

“Why did they want a bloody cake that had to be on  _ fire?  _ Do they not understand the havoc that wreaks on buttercream? Flame-freezing charms work better to save witches than to save frosting,” she complained, and Neville awkwardly tried to motion to his shoulder to bring her attention to the frosting that splashed across her skin. 

“Mariana, love. Longbottom is trying and failing to tell you that you have frosting on your arm.” Draco still hadn’t even looked up from Dora’s hair, and Mariana brushed the frosting off impatiently. 

“Thank you, Drakey. And Nev.” She smacked her husband lightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Romero sputtered, and Harry shifted so his arm rested over the back of Draco’s chair. 

“Why does  _ she  _ get to call you Drakey?” Harry whispered into his ear, and could practically hear Draco roll his eyes. 

“Because she routinely supplies me with cake. And I’m not going to offend our wedding cake baker two months before our own wedding. I’m not stupid.” He paused, working another ringlet free. “I will maim you if you share this, but I like it. Father would be appalled,” he snickered, and Harry laughed. 

“Are you sure you want all this?” He nodded to the filling chairs, and the large reception tent erected across the way, where he could just make out the flickering silhouette of the monstrous wedding cake; literally. It was shaped like a dragon. 

“I would be perfectly happy to run off to Monte Carlo and announce it a month later, but Mother would be heartbroken. Are  _ you  _ going to take that away from her?” 

Harry sighed. “No. I would do anything for you both. Might even pull out a favor or two for Lucius if he caught me in the right mood.” Draco snorted, and ran his fingers through Dora’s hair, her curls now falling around her face, making her look like a perfect little doll. “She’s beautiful,” Harry said quietly, running a finger down her plump cheek. Draco’s gentle ministrations had put the three month old to sleep, and Harry was struck with a thought. 

“The honeymoon is all for us, though. Would you want to try for our own?” Draco looked up, clearly startled by Harry’s bold suggestion. 

“I think that’s something to talk about later,” he hissed, glancing around, but Theo and Neville were complaining about how much time Hermione and Pansy had been spending with bridesmaids duties, and Mariana had Matteo’s full attention based on his expression of full rapture. Susan and Ron were talking with Hestia and Kingsley, and Harry didn’t miss the way Susan’s hand cupped her belly that was  _ just  _ beginning to show. 

“I mean, if we’re going to have to do this wedding, we should have some fun…” Harry whispered, his lips brushing the shell of Draco’s ear. 

“Shit,” Ron muttered, and sprung out of his chair. A moment later, processional music began, and Harry stood with the rest of the guests, Draco a beat behind him, surreptitiously dropping the corner of Dora’s blanket to cover what Harry was positive would be a deliciously hard erection. 

The ceremony was beautiful, and Harry had to admit that Millie had done a great job of reining in Mrs Weasley. He doubted he’d have as much luck with Narcissa, but he was willing to let her throw the biggest wedding of the century if it made her happy. Not that she didn’t do as she pleased anyway. Hell, she’d funded this whole place as a thank you to Charlie for figuring out the curse. 

Kingsley and Hestia had been married mere months after Narcissa’s recovery and Narcissa’s urging to Hestia not to let him get away. When Charlie moved back to England to run the sanctuary a year later, Millie had quickly staked her claim, and in doing so, introduced Hermione to her cousin Theo, and Ron to fellow healer Susan Bones. Ron and Susan had been the next down the aisle, followed by Neville and Pansy, then Theo and Hermione. Charlie and Millie had held out the longest and got engaged six months after Harry had proposed to Draco, though Narcissa insisted on a longer engagement to allow for party planning. It seemed that Narcissa had a knack for not just interior decoration, but for match making as well. 

Dora got passed off to Susan as they moved from the ceremony to reception, and Harry lost track of Draco for a while as he shook hands with various guests, told Millie she made a beautiful bride, and shared a dance with Hermione. He handed her off to her husband, and Theo nodded behind him. 

“I think your fiancé is trying to get your attention, Potter. Best not leave him to his own devices for long.” Harry turned, and sure enough, Draco was leaning against a pillar, a tumbler of firewhiskey in hand. Skirting his way between guests and tables and past the fire-breathing cake (which Harry thought looked phenomenal, Mariana was amazing and totally worth the small fortune in galleons they’d be paying for their own cake, which didn’t even include fire), he reached Draco. 

“Where did you go? I was worried you’d miss the cake and I know--” 

Draco set his glass aside and buried his hands in Harry’s hair, kissing him fiercely. “Do you mean it?” He pulled back just enough to meet Harry’s eyes, and Harry was momentarily lost in the quicksilver gaze of his fiancé. 

“Wha—“

“Do you want to try for our own?” Draco’s low tone was urgent, and a spike of panic shot through Harry’s veins. 

“I mean, on-only if you do. We don’t have to! I just thought—“

He was cut off by a devouring kiss from Draco. 

“I want to. As soon as this bloody wedding is over.” Harry glanced around, and Draco laughed. “As soon as  _ our  _ bloody wedding is over. Mother would kill me.” 

“The things we do for your mother,” Harry grumbled. 

“Our mother,” Draco corrected. “And we can practice all we want until then,” he whispered, leaving a sensual, soft kiss on Harry’s neck. 

Suddenly the things they did for Mother didn’t seem so bad. It brought him Draco, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's over! This has been a year in the making, but it's been such fun, and I want to tell everyone that read a HUGE thank you for coming on this journey with me. 
> 
> XOXO, 
> 
> Ruby

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are my lifeblood! I love to hear what you think!


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